


Nightmare by Design

by nishiki



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arkham Asylum, Enemies to Lovers, Fake Character Death, Feelings of guilt, Hallucinations, Lee is so done, Lee is the voice of reason, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, More characters to be added, Nygmobblepot, Oswald adopts Martin, Oswald being a good dad, Protective Edward Nygma, Protective Riddler, Psychological Torture, Regret, Season/Series 04, Torture, Warnings May Change, fake death, insane asylum, minor Jerome/Oswald, post Gobblepot, post Jim/Oswald, previous relationships, protective Oswald
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-09-16 21:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 76,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16962015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishiki/pseuds/nishiki
Summary: Gotham had held her breath as the news first broke. Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, was dead. Killed by the captain of the GCPD in a senseless police shootout at his own club.





	1. Prolog

»Arkham doesn’t get many volunteers.« The intake counselor did not even look at him as he shoved the documents that were neatly placed in front of him over his messy desk towards him. How anyone could work at a desk like this, was beyond him. All the empty mugs of coffee that were standing around the small office with the barred up windows were the least of his concerns, though. One probably had to be a little loony to work in a place like this.

Yet, the intake counselor looked as if he couldn't be any less interested in his work or the person sitting on the other side of his desk on a creaky metal chair. He might as well plunge the pen he was given with the documents through his left eye and he wouldn't bat a lash. The twitching of the man’s left eye was making Ed uncomfortable anyway. Plunging the pen into it might improve the situation greatly.

Quickly, before those vile thoughts could further manifest in his all too tormented brain now, Edward Nygma grabbed the pen to sign the documents.

»You do know who I am, right?« Edward muttered. His voice raspy, even to his own ears now. »Criminally insane pretty much covers it.« The smile the counselor shot him was as unnerving as the twitching of his left eye or the fact that he took so little care of his appearances or the state of his clothes. There were coffee stains all over his ugly dress-shirt - and the admitting form in front of Edward too. At least in the good old days of Professor Strange’s reign, things had had their order and been dealt with properly. The coffee stains on the patient admitting form in front of him showed only the disregard for the human beings that were meant to sign those documents and the uncaring nature of this facility after it had fallen into so much disarray lately. Arkham Asylum was no longer a place of healing where true professionals were dealing with the lost souls of a broken society but a kingdom ruled by lunatics.

The only real difference between the patients and the staff were now the uniforms each fraction wore.

»Read, then sign.« The nameless man in front of him said with that same unnerving smile as before. Nameless. How odd. No, he was sure that the man had, in fact, a name. He had probably introduced himself to Edward as well when he first entered the office just a few minutes ago. Still, he couldn't remember. Was it important? Probably not.  

He did not wish to waste any more time on that insufferable man or in this dank office than strictly necessary. He had made his decision in the early hours of this morning and he was unwilling to have his mind swayed in any way now that he was finally here. He had not even told Lee about his plans. Had he spoken to her, she would have tried to convince him to stay and that he simply couldn't do. At least her reign over the Narrows was now secure and without the ever-looming threat of the Riddler around, she too would be safe as well. Odd, how their initial alliance had grown into a friendship. Odd, how much he felt like the old Edward Nygma again in her presence.  

Signing the admitting form felt like a failure, like giving up, accepting that he was lost in this world once more, that he was truly insane and had no place in the world. No one who would care, no one who would come looking for him. He was all alone now. A stranger in a strange land. Arkham, at the very least, felt somewhat familiar.

 _»Do you really think you can get rid of me so easily?«_ He felt the presence behind him as he shoved the papers back over the desk towards the nameless counselor who looked down at them with as much glee as though he was a devil and Edward had just sold his soul to him. To anyone but Edward, the looming presence behind him was invisible.

 _No_ , he thought. By now, he knew that he would not get rid of him, this distorted mirror image of himself - _the Riddler_ \- and the only person who would have been able to free the Riddler was now dead. They were stuck with each other and Arkham now the only place left where they could exist. Here, at least, they would mean no danger for innocent people. He and the Riddler would forever be stuck in Limbo together until they would have driven each other completely insane.

»Arkham welcomes you back, Mr. Nygma.« His nameless foe smiled as he collected the papers and put them into a file in a way that probably was neat to him. Kristen would have lost her mind at the sight. »You surely understand that we need you to go through the usual entrance examination that is performed by our most professional staff before we can establish a proper plan for your medication and therapy.«

»Therapy?« Ed echoed.

»Of course. Arkham is a place of healing, Mr. Nygma. We do our best to rehabilitate our patients so that they can be released back into the world when they are ready.« A place of healing. He supposed that this was actually true even in the post-Strange-era of this place. Ed, however, did not wish to be healed.  He had no illusions about the fact that he would never be sane again - if he had ever been sane before. The sanest he had ever been was when he had been Oswald's chief of staff.

_»That's also the only time when we truly got along … But you had to ruin it and shoot him and now look where that got us, Mate.«_

He was right, of course. He had been sane then and he and the Riddler had been a team. He had been accepted and able to thrive. Whole. He had been whole. It now all seemed a lifetime ago.

»For some people, this goes quicker and for some, it takes longer - years in some cases. I am optimistic, though, that we can set you back on the right track in a few months. After all, you already recovered once, right, Mr. Nygma?«

Oh, the glee in his left twitching eye! He knew as well as Ed knew that he would have never gotten out of here, had it not been for Oswald.

These days in which he had felt whole, had ended quite violently with the sharp bang of a gun and a bullet ripping through the body of his former best friend. Yet, Oswald had come back from the dead as it seemed to be his habit. He could have had a second chance, yet he squandered it. And now, his former best friend, the only person who had ever seen him for who he was, for who he still could become, his nemesis, was dead.

 _»We have lost him. You have lost him.«_ The deep voice in the back of his mind echoed as Edward nodded his agreement to the counselor before raising from his chair. He knew the drill, after all. He had been here before. And even in his darkest dreams had he not imagined that one day he would come back - especially not by his own free will. Life could change a man certainly. Love could change a man.

_»Oh, please, Eddie. We both know that you don't love her. You can't lie to me. Don't forget, I am you. I am the part of you that you so desperately want to drown every time you get the chance. But we both know that you need me. You need my darkness and the truths I speak. Do you really think a man like you will ever have a girl like Lee Thompkins? And then what? White-picket fence, 2.5 children and a dog?«_

He followed down the hallway behind two male nurses with the physique of bodybuilders to the decontamination room without paying any attention to the Riddler trailing after him down the dingy looking hallway with the flickering lights. He was so loud lately. He was so intrusive. Yet, he was right, wasn't he? He would never have someone like Lee Thompkins at his side. He was not meant for something like this. Besides, he wasn't blind. He knew that Lee Thompkins was still in love with Jim. How would he ever be able to compete with that?

As much as he was not meant to wander in the light, Lee was not meant for a life in darkness. A life of crime and blood. She might be flirting with the world or crime at the moment but, in the end, she was a healer, first and foremost. And he? What really was Ed Nygma? What really was left of him now anyway? First, it had been being locked away in the ice but now … What excuse did he still have for not knowing who he was? And without Oswald to serve as his enemy … would he ever know again? How was he going to survive without the Yin to his Yang?

Something had shattered inside of him as he heard the news of Oswald's death. And yes, he had argued with Lee about the ludicrousy of it. How could Oswald have died in a hail of bullets? It seemed ridiculous. It seemed so wrong. Ed still vividly remembered that night when Gotham had held her breath for a moment as the voice of the news anchor had come over the radio in Ed’s tiny apartment in the Narrows. »Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, is dead.«

He had been killed by a bullet during a police shootout at his own club and pronounced dead at the scene of this tragedy by none other than James Gordon - the man whose fate seemed so inseparable intertwined with Oswald’s for years. As far as police reports had it, Oswald had resisted being arrested by James Gordon for the murder of some little boy that Oswald had allegedly blown up in his car under the Crown Point Bridge. None of it made any sense to him.

»He is a sociopath, Ed.« Lee had argued while he had been pacing up and down his tiny apartment, unable to grasp the truth of those news. »Why would he not blow-up some orphan to prove a point?«

And yet, even now as he stood naked in the showers of the Asylum and was being washed by the rough hands of the nurse’s, Edward held firmly onto the belief that Oswald had killed no one under that bridge. He had not been a good man but he had never once harmed the innocent. But now he was dead and there was nothing that could change that. Arguing would not bring him back to life. Oswald was gone and so was his only chance of feeling whole ever again.

 

**-End of Prolog-**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed is a mess - nothing new here

Everything seemed different from the first time that he had set foot into Arkham Asylum. First of all, the last time he had obviously not come willingly to the asylum. He remembered being dragged into the asylum by the police and he remembered his first session with Professor Strange and the wretched Miss Peabody in great detail. In retrospect, it should have been obvious to him from the beginning that good old Professor Strange was actually making monsters in his little hobby room downstairs in the basement like some kind of Frankenstein rip-off. He should probably be glad that he had not ended up as one of his experiments - like Oswald had.

Oswald … He always came back to Oswald. What would Oswald say if he could see him now? He would probably laugh and come running to gloat about his situation. Well, that was what he would do if Oswald would be here in this situation yet again. Hell … Where had they gone so wrong? A bit over a year ago, he would have done anything for Oswald. He had been devastated when his Mr. Penguin had been thrown into Arkham Asylum after he had taken the fall for the murder on Theo Galavan just to protect James Gordon and even more so when he came out of it completely broken and brainwashed.

Sometimes, in the darkest hours of his days, he wondered how things might have turned out without Isabella's interference. Would they have become more than friends? Would Oswald have confessed his love and would they have ended up together?

 _»No use in living in the past_.« The Riddler mocked from where he was standing at the door. He had been standing there for at least three hours even though it was hard to tell the time in this tiny cell. There was no clock and no rhythm to the chaos around him in the dark of the night. Only the screams of the insane all around him. Some things just never changed.

After his first rodeo inside of the asylum, he had dreamed about it for weeks. He remembered being shaken awake by nightmares nearly every night in the big mansion he had been allowed to live in after he had, inevitably, lost everything with his incarceration. And Oswald, as if reading his mind, had comforted him about it, told him how he had gone through the same thing after getting out of Arkham. They had sat together in front of that stone fireplace in the parlor more nights than he could count with a cup of tea or a nice glass of red wine, talking about their experiences as if this would ease the burden on their shoulders. And, in some cases, it actually had, he assumed.

Back then, they had been unified in the horrors that they shared. This time, he was all alone. By the time he would get out, Lee would have moved on with her life and forgotten all about him. And why wouldn't she? He was the root of all of her hardships of this past couple of years, after all.

Had it not been for Edward, Jim wouldn't have ended up in Blackgate and she would possibly not have lost her baby as a result from all the heartbreak and stress she had gone through. She would not have left Gotham and met Mario Falcone. She would not have married him instead of Jim. Jim would not have shot him. Lee would not have infected herself with the Tetch virus and then kidnapped Jim to force him to do the same thing. And perhaps - only perhaps - the Tetch virus would then not have been released over Gotham. Jim could have been able to prevent this had Lee not kidnapped him. If the virus had never been released over the city, the Narrows wouldn't have been hit so hard and Lee would have never gone to the Narrows because her guilt had left her no other choice. So many people would still be alive.

All of her hardships could be traced back to Edward and he knew that the friendship she offered him now probably meant nothing at all.

_»You know as well as I do that she is only using us for her own gain, right?«_

Yes, he thought. Of course, he knew that this was the truth no matter how much he wanted to lie to himself about it. Her words of kindness and friendship were enticing. Her praise was enticing. However, the moment Lee wouldn't need him anymore, she would plunge a knife in his stomach - revenge for Kristen Kringle, revenge for Jim, revenge for her baby, revenge for the virus, revenge for the Narrows. And now that Oswald was gone, there was no one left who would actually give a damn if he lived or if he died.

_»Now you are just being dramatic.«_

»Would you go away from the door already? You are making me nervous.« Soon, he thought, the Riddler would be gone, drowned in a sea of pills and perhaps even electroshock therapy. Last time he had been here, they had largely left him to his own devices. He had suffered through the occasional therapy session, yes, and been given all kinds of drugs but other than that, they had not tried too hard to change him or his illness. This time, it would be different. This time, he was not just Edward Nygma, the cop killer, after all. He was the Riddler and they would use every trick in the book on him.

He would become a vegetable again. The state most people seemed to prefer him to be in anyway. His own parents had preferred him drugged out of his own mind until he had hardly had enough energy to tie his shoelaces himself. Even as he had started working for the GCPD … Yes, people had not liked him, but they certainly preferred his medicated self to the self he had then shown the world after he came to terms with who he truly was.

_»But do you really want me to go away? Who would listen to your whining then, after all?«_

During his first stay in Arkham Asylum, he had been quick to notice and understand the pattern in which guards and nurses operated. Everything had been in order, the cogs clicking and working together like clockwork under Strange’s leadership. Things had certainly changed under the rule of one Charles Quimby. The poor man had his pity for certain. After all, he had been freed from Arkham and now once again pulled back into this chaos after the sudden death of Mr. Reed through Jonathan Crane, that timid boy who was now only one more costumed villain that this city seemed to produce on mass.

The questions never failed to fascinate him. Was it something that was unique to Gotham that was making those criminals or were it the criminals that were just drawn to this city? Was it something in the water or Gotham’s unique location creating monsters out of perfectly sane and normal people or were they all corrupt from the start? Gotham seemed to be a place that brought out the worst in the human nature. Even someone as righteous as Jim Gordon had been corrupted by this city.

In the end, maybe it had been inevitable that he became yet another monster. Edward had never been normal to begin with but functioning with all these drugs he had taken even after graduating from college. Looking back on it, something had pulled him to Gotham back then. It had been like the call of the sirens in the Odyssey but he had been unable to withstand it. Gotham had drawn him right into a tight embrace and refused to let go. And somewhere along the way, Edward had decided to stop taking his meds altogether. Maybe this too had been the influence of the city. Gotham had whispered into his ear and he had followed her advice all too gladly.

And maybe he had always been meant to end up here in this cell with the likes of Jerome Valeska, Jervis Tetch, and Jonathan Crane surrounding him. No longer would he be the most dangerous inmate just by the force of his genius-level intellect because that part of him was gone, right? No matter what Lee said, he knew it was gone. Oswald had taken this from him and then he died.

He died.

He died and left him here without giving back what he had stolen from him. How was he ever going to recover from that? And how would this city survive without Oswald? Suddenly, Gotham without the Penguin seemed impossible. Never mind that Gotham had thrived for decades under the leadership of Don Falcone and countless other people before him. Penguin was Gotham. That was just a fact and her face would never look the same without him.

The sound that escaped his throat was alien to him. Such a pathetic, strangled, little noise. He remembered a time after he had shot Oswald, as he had been sure he was dead. He remembered drowning in guilt and self-loathing. He remembered the immense amount of pain - actual physical pain - he had been in constantly. And again, he had taken to drugs. This time of his own volition and not by force of doctors or his parents. All he had wanted was to drown out the pain, all he had wanted to do was forget and to feel better. And then Oswald had come back to him. So vividly that he had tried to touch him only to realize that he couldn't. He had been nothing more than a hallucination, a figment of his overactive imagination to further punish and taunt him.

A part of him hoped that he would see him again here in Arkham like a ghost roaming these halls. He hoped that the medication would allow him to see him again. Either that or that it would make him numb to everything around him. This time, there would be no resurrection. This time, he would not be reunited with Oswald through the bars of a cage. The police had shot him. He was gone. Jim Gordon had stepped in front of the press and made his statement to the world only hours after the incident with Oswald’s blood still on the cuff of his white dress-shirt. He had not appeared relieved or even glad that Oswald was dead. He had stated the facts with an unmoving, unreadable face. Perhaps there had even been grief in his eyes.

This night, Edward hardly found any rest. He only tossed and turned in his creaky, uncomfortable bed. The Riddler, the always looming presence that he was these days, remained at the door, staring out of the small window with a wide grin plastered on his face as if he could see something that Ed couldn't. In the morning, Ed was shaken awake by the sharp sound as the doors were automatically unlocked. Him jolting up at that noise was the only indication for Edward that he had passed out in the first place. He remembered that he had been awake as the sun had been rising on the horizon.

He was hungry but he knew that he wouldn't be able to eat. He needed to get his medication but he couldn't get up. He was frozen in place on the bed, staring at the white ceiling above his head and counting the water stains, listening only to the sound of water dripping from a corner in the ceiling near the door like the sound of a metronome. A cold hand was closing itself around his heart, chilling his body to the absolute core. It was lunchtime until Ed was able to move again. He had drifted in and out of sleep until one of the nurses had actually come to get him. He had no interest in being a model patient. He had no interest in playing by the rules so that he might be released quickly. He came willingly. He came to escape. He came to stay. He didn't care about how the nurse scolded him that he had not taken his medicine this morning. He just followed him, took his medication and walked into the mess hall.

The mess hall was still as he remembered it; plain, loud and dirty. In fact, walking into the hall was very much reminiscent of walking into the lion's den in the zoo. The cage that was surrounding the large - yet not nearly large enough - room only added to that sensation. He assumed that there was something about walking into a cage that should, at the very least, concern him. Yet, he actually felt quite numb and indifferent about it. Maybe _disconnected_ would be the better word for it, actually.

»Could be the drugs.« He muttered to himself as he walked over to one of the metal tables with his lunch tray. There were around fifteen of those tables with six chairs on it each. Room for around ninety patients at once. The tables were lined up in three rows and in each row five tables. It reminded him on the cafeteria in his old high school. He had hated that place. And here, much like in the cafeteria in high school there were all kinds of people walking around, sitting at tables, standing in corners or making noise. Unlike in high school, most people he saw wore the same black and white striped suit with a number printed on the left side of their chests. And unlike in high school, many of those people that were making noise were talking to themselves, laughing hysterically or rattling at the cage even. He saw one guy that was just sitting there, cross-eyed, his mouth hanging wide open, the tray in front of him untouched and drool running out of his mouth. He looked very much dead to the world, his eyes unblinking. He stunk of pee as other patients were throwing food at him or poking him.

At least the staff had learned enough to not give them real cutlery anymore. For the longest moment, he just looked at the … _spork_ in disgust. How far had he fallen to be now using a _spork_ to eat his lunch - a mess of mashed potatoes, soggy vegetables and something that was probably some sort of meat. A year ago, he had been residing in one of the finest mansions in Gotham and drank expensive red wine with the best friend he had ever had. Now here he was yet again, surrounded by morons and lunatics and in his hand a … spork. Could he possibly sink any lower?

Not even after his resurrection from the ice, staggering through Gotham like a drunkard, had he felt this low. Hell, he had robbed a pharmacy for what turned out to be sugar pills and had felt more dignified than he did now.

»Aren't you the riddle-dude? Penguin’s little bitch?«

Ed did not know how long he had been sitting there. They did not get hot food in Arkham in the first place so, the fact that his food was cold now was sadly no indicator of the time that had passed. There was no clock either - not that he would have looked at it in the first place. He only had the feeling that it had been a while. As he looked up from his spork he found some other inmate standing next to his table. He did not recognize the inmate from his previous stay at Arkham but that was hardly a surprise. Those people he had manipulated back then were either all dead by now or released. He was a tall, bulky guy. All muscle and probably nobody upstairs. Actually, he reminded Ed a little of his good friend Grundy.

Ed just stared at him without the slightest change in his expression. That, however, seemed only to infuriate the other man.

»I asked you a question!« He growled.

_»I would actually love to try out our spork on his eyes. Do you think we could stab out his eyes?«_

»What did you just say to me?« The other man howled with a face as if Edward had just insulted his mother.

»I did not say anything.«

He was jumped by two armed guards before he knew what was actually happening to him. There was screaming around him and an all too familiar voice laughing gleefully. The world around him was pure chaos all of the sudden. White lights, screams, laughter, and blood. And then his entire world turned black at once.

※※※※※※※

As it turned out, he had jumped the other patient and stabbed his spork in his left eye. As it turned out, the spork was actually very useful as a weapon. Whoever that other patient was, he would probably never harass him again. However, for Edward, this meant he had to spend some quality alone time in a padded cell for the first time ever and that so shortly after he had come back to Arkham. It had only taken him one day to be thrown into a padded cell with a straightjacket on. It had only taken him a few minutes to violently attack another patient and stab out his eye. Definitely a new low even for his standards.

Telling how much time was passing inside of the padded cell was impossible. The lights were never shut off. There was no window and no sounds coming from the outside. No telling of night and day. He was imprisoned inside of a cotton ball, his world a desert of perfect white snow around him. The only sound he had to keep him sane was the constant buzzing of the neon lamp above his head. And even this buzzing sound only added to his growing discomfort.

He could only sit in the corner of the room and watch how the smallest stains and imperfections on the walls around him took shape and morphed into something else. Soon enough, he could see them form into phantoms roaming his cell. Hours or even days might have gone by and the only surprising thing was that the Riddler did not show himself. It had taken him a while to grasp the situation he was in actually, and even longer to realize that he was alone. Blissfully alone. For the first time in an eternity. He would have expected to be endlessly tormented by his alter ego in this cell but whatever drugs they had pumped into his system before throwing him in this cell, allowed him hours, maybe even days of peace for once.

That was what he thought, at least. That was before the hallucinations came back full force.

Ed heard the clicking of her long fingernails against the metal threshold of the door. For hours now he tried not to look at her, not to acknowledge her existence in this cell.

»I am offended, you know?« Her voice, though sharp, was more of a singsong now. A taunt - like his hallucinations so often had the habit of taunting him, of kicking him when he was already down. And maybe he deserved that too. »When I died, all you did for a while was mope around in this big house, being pampered by our beloved Mr. Mayor. But, of course, when he dies you have a full mental breakdown and land yourself not only in Arkham but in a padded cell even! I mean what am I supposed to think about that, Edward? Should I be surprised? Actually, I am not surprised at all. All this talk about him being your nemesis was just that: talk. Did you even love me at one point?«

»I did love you.« Answering a hallucination was never a good idea. It was like uncapping Pandora's box all over again. He was inviting in everything bad that was not going to come his way. He knew that and yet how could he not answer this question? He had loved her. Right? He had tried to murder his best friend because he had loved her. Right?

»Oh, come on, Ed. We all know that's not true.« A new voice and yet much too similar to the first laughed. It was a loud, shrill sound. It was a gunshot in a tiny room. »You loved the _idea_ of her. That she looks exactly like me only helped in this regard. You loved the idea of going back to the Edward Nygma you were when you were with me. The idea of a normal life. A white picket fence, a house in the suburbs, being a better father than your’s ever was. She was the embodiment of what you were supposed to want. Of what your parents wanted you to be and why they pumped you full of drugs when you were little. A normal, perfect, apple pie life. But come on, Ed, you can't lie to us. We are in your head, after all. We danced through all your little tulips. We all know that this is not what you really wanted, right? And that's why you are here now, Ed. You broke down because now you will never have what you truly wanted. He is dead and you lost your purpose. What now, Edward? Are you going to stay in this cell for the rest of your pathetic little life until someone finds the mercy to gank you?«

They had taken his glasses - probably so that he wouldn't be able to smash them and harm himself with the shards in any way. Yet, Kristen's face was perfectly sharp and clear in front of him. Her skin was pale, her eyes bloodshot. She was wearing that silk negligee she had been wearing the night of her death. Last time he had seen her in Isabella’s bathroom she had looked just the way he wanted to remember her, his Miss Kringle from the GCPD. Now, however, she was taunting him with her rotting flesh and the black bruises around her neck.

»You mean the night when you killed me.« She purred reading his mind. »It's okay, you can say it. The night when you wrapped those big hands around my throat and squeezed and squeezed until the blood vessels in my eyes popped and my lips turned blue.«

»Why is it that you always kill what you love, Ed?« Isabella whispered into his ear.

»I did not kill _you_.«

»In a way you did.« Isabella smiled that same condescending smile he had seen so often on his mother’s face while growing up. »Because you could not see the truth sooner. You threw me to the lions, Ed. I had no idea. Then again, if he had not killed me, we both know it would only have been a matter of time until you would have snuffed me like the flame of a candle.«

»I would have never hurt you!«

»Oh, but you would have, Darling. You would have. I can see that now. Death does this to you, you know? Just like your pa snuffed out your mother, right?« Her words were swirling inside his head, a maelstrom of memories and long repressed feelings. »It's in your DNA.«

»It was an accident.«

»Sure.« Kristen laughed. »She fell down the stairs in your house how many times that night? Accept it, Eddie, you are cursed to always kill what you love. You can't help it. See what you did to Oswald.«

»I don't love him. I never loved him.«

»Which is why you were so obsessed with killing him, huh? Which is why we are here now in this ridiculous situation.« She was Miss Kringle again. The same Miss Kringle who had so often rejected him in the past. The same Miss Kristen who had so often so openly mocked him and stomped all over his heart.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to stab his eyes out so that he would not need to see them. He wanted to stab through his eardrums so that he would not need to hear them. However, he knew all too well that he would never be able to escape them. This is not how it works. He could never escape.

»It's all in your head, Edward. You know that's true, don't you?«

»No … No, no, no…«

»I am quite flattered actually. I mean, wow. Who would have thought that the great Edward Nygma would break under the news of my death so violently? It's actually a bit romantic, don't you agree? I was the one who got away. And, Honey, we both know a love like ours could have burned down cities.«

He wanted to press his hands against his ears to drown out all the sounds and that silken voice but the straightjacket would not allow it. Instead, he pressed his face against his raised knees so hard he could see blotches of light appear behind his eyelids. He did not want to see him. Seeing him would give him real physical pain. That was just something he knew.

And yet as he pressed his face into his knees, he could still see him. He knelt before him as if his mangled leg would not bother him at all now. He was wearing that same sharp black suit with the grey pinstripes he had last seen him in, his hair styled upwards meticulously and a bullet wound in the middle of his forehead.

»Do you really think that's how I died or did you want to give me a quick and painless death in your head? How nice of you. Is that how you would have killed me last time at the club? A bullet right between the eyes? Clean and quick, not much chance of survival this time. Then again, you would have much rather seen me bleed out slowly on the floor, right? You would have wanted to gloat. Maybe you would have dragged me back to that wretched pier and dumped my body in the black waters so that I would become one with this city.«

»That's not true!« He whimpered and screwed his eyes shut even tighter but Oswald remained, unwilling to leave him be, unwilling to grant him a little bit of sanity at least. Oh, Oswald had always been so good in robbing him of his sanity. Last time, he could have stopped taking the drugs after his hallucination first appeared to him dripping and rumpled. He hadn’t. He had kept taking them. He had kept conjuring him up. So desperately had he tried to hold onto him for just a bit longer. A single drop of blood was running down his forehead, his eyes dull and lifeless all of the sudden. »It's not true … I wouldn't have … I would not…«

»Or would you have rather strangled me like you did the others?« Oswald closed his own hands around his pale throat. »Admit it: You imagine it, didn’t you? You imagined choking the life out of me and watching the life drain from my eyes. Such a personal way of killing someone.«

»I did not kill Isabella.«

»Yes, you did.« Oswald grinned. There was blood between his teeth now. »You sent me after her like a wolf. Deep down you knew I loved you. Deep down you knew what I would do. You killed her because you kill everything you love.«

»I did not love you.«

»Yes, you did. And you were too afraid to allow it. You wanna know how I really died? Oh, it was messy, Ed. You would have liked it.« His voice dropped deeper than he had ever heard it before, his tone almost sensual as he described his death. »Jim shot me twice. First, in the guts and then in the chest. The bullet ripped a giant hole through my lungs. I drowned in my own blood, Ed. Right there on the floor of my club where you once confronted me not too long ago and threatened to kill me. I was all alone, you know? No friends left to care for me or hold my hand at least. The last thing I ever saw was Jim Gordon, however, not you. My first love, my killer.«

He heard the raspy breaths before he actually saw him lying on his back on the ground before him. He saw how his body was twitching and jerking and spasming. He saw the blood pool around him, covering the endless white dunes of his cell, painting the walls around him a bright deep red. Oswald’s pale blue eyes rested solely on him as he was choking on his own blood, desperately trying to actually breathe. The wheezing sounds he made were the worst about all of this as the life drained from his eyes slowly.

He had never felt such horror and yet, he was subjected to it over and over and over again. And no matter how often he saw Oswald die, no matter in how many vivid ways Oswald showed his death to him, it never lost its horror.

Weeks might have gone by like this. Weeks in which he saw Oswald die over and over again until he had lost his voice to scream, until he had grown numb to the world around him. Incapable of speech. Incapable of sleeping. Incapable to feel.

As he was finally released from his cell, it was not even a relief. He was released back into the reality of Arkham Asylum, back into the midst of it all and thrown straight back into the lion's den and a maelstrom of chaos and anarchy. At least he got his glasses back as he was led down the hallway and into the endless maze of grey corridors that all looked the same to him. As it turned out, he had only been in the padded cell for two days. Two days. He could not believe it. A part of him was inclined to believe that they were lying to him. How would he know if they were lying anyway?

»I hope you will be able to get along with the other patients from now on, Mr. Nygma. It would be a shame if we would have to have you stay in the padded cell again.« That was what his therapist said before releasing him back into the savannah that was the common room. Not that he would have paid him much attention.

It was loud. Too loud after two days in complete solitude. A few people were actually shrinking away from him as they saw him, mumbling to themselves. Under different circumstances, he would have derived a sick sense of pleasure from their fear of him but now he was numb to all of this. He was hungry but he knew that he wouldn't be able to eat. He would much rather starve himself to death.

It was then that he was confronted yet again with one of his most vivid hallucinations. There he stood, staring back at him with wide eyes as if he was honestly surprised to see him here. He was not wearing that sharp pin-striped suit but the same Arkham uniform as Edward. It was a little too big on him, the number on the front stitched crudely onto the shirt and already ripped off halfway to reveal the original misprinted number on the fabric beneath. His hair was longer than Edward remembered, shaggier and hung loosely in his face.

Edward remembered visiting Oswald in Arkham once, a lifetime ago perhaps. He had not looked like that back then. His uniform had fitted him better, he had taken good care of his appearance, his hair had been a lot shorter after it had been cut by the nurses - much to Oswald’s dismay. He remembered the starry-eyed young man who came to him tarred and feathered after he had been released from this awful place. He remembered sending him away when Oswald had needed him the most.

»Ed?« He hallucination gasped and before Ed knew what he was doing, he had already jumped the smaller man and closed his hands around his pale throat.

 

**-End of Chapter 2-**


	3. Chapter 3

The ghost of the gunshots still hung in the air. It had been either him or Oswald and, in the end, it had been Oswald who had ultimately paid the price for their conflict. Simple as that. The kingpin had already stopped breathing when Jim reached him and pressed two shaky fingers into the soft flesh of his long neck. The groans of his injured colleagues and Oswald’s injured henchmen filled the club like the music that would usually play all throughout the night. They were lucky that Oswald had not deemed it necessary to surround himself with his usual army today. All four of his hired muscle were injured - but none of them badly. Had Victor Zsasz been here, they would all be dead.

Oswald's life had been supposed to end four years ago on a gloomy morning at the pier with a bullet to his head. It had not been supposed to end on the polished marble floor of his own nightclub in a hail of bullets. Of course, Oswald had been the first to shoot in his drunken rage at the accusations that Jim had shot at him like shrapnel.

Now, there was no defiance anymore. His blue eyes were blown wide, staring unseeingly at the high ceiling where he had hung a dozen umbrellas as decoration. It was a reminder of where he came from, Jim knew as much. He had been much more sentimental than he would have ever bothered to admit. Oswald’s skin was still warm underneath the tips of Jim’s fingers as he went to close his eyes but he could feel the last bit of warmth drain from his flesh. He couldn't stand his ghostly stare even a second longer now. His eyelids slid close with ease and wouldn't it have been for the blood running from his mouth, he would look like he was asleep. Peaceful, almost.

Jim did not allow himself to feel anything at this moment or a few minutes later when the coroner came to put Oswald into a body bag as if it meant nothing, as if this was just one more ordinary day in his job, as if Oswald Cobblepot was not someone special to this city - to Jim. It seemed wrong to him that Oswald was put into that black plastic bag and he was not. From the moment he had set foot into Gotham a few years ago, their fates had been intertwined, an unbreakable bond between the policeman and the gangster. They had risen to power together and they should have fallen together. Instead, Jim Gordon sunk onto a barstool reached over the counter and grabbed the first bottle his fingers touched to pour himself a stiff drink, while he was idly watching the coroners and the forensics team work around the club.

He had been here to this very club so often, yet it had never felt so strange to him to be here now.

After all this time, it had been one of Jim’s decisions that had cost Oswald his life. That was a fact he now had to live with and one he still could not quite understand. It didn't make any sense. It didn't make sense how they manhandled Oswald’s lifeless body into the body bag. It didn't make sense how they zipped it up. He had seen this a thousand times and still it stung more as it had any right to as he watched on now. He even jumped from the barstool as one of the guys dropped his end of the body bag - the head - and chuckled about it.

»Hey!« He heard himself bark. »Show some fucking respect!«

Bewildered glances almost tore down the veneer of moral outrage as he downed his drink and slammed the thick glass on the pristine shiny countertop. This was not how his day had been supposed to go.

»He was the bane of the GCPD!« One of the forensics muttered as he was still collecting bullets from the walls of the club. The expensive furniture and the walls were riddled with bullets now.  Jim wondered what would happen to this establishment next. Would it fall back into Barbara's hands? Would the sirens experience a revival, again? No matter who would get their hands on this club, they would have a lot of work with filling those bullet holes up again. Not that he would care. »At least he could allow us to be happy about his death!« Another forensic scientist agreed with his colleague as he shot Jim a dirty look. There were days when he actually missed working with Edward Nygma. No matter how weird Ed was, he at least had still held respect for the bodies of the deceased no matter who they had been in life.

»He was still a human being!« He shot back at his colleagues and downed his drink all at once. A part of him just wanted to leave.

Jim could not deny the dread that was seeping into his bones or how heavy he started to feel as he came back to the precinct hours later. Even before he stepped through the doors of the building that he called his home and would defend until his last breath, he knew what would await him inside. By now, not only the GCPD knew about Oswald's death. The entire city knew. Of course, that had to have been expected. Oswald’s death was already all over the media as TV programs were interrupted by those breaking news.

»You did it, Cap!« Harper cheered the moment he walked through the doors of the ancient building. The applause that followed from his colleagues all around the precinct felt hollow and empty and was yet deafening. It burned in his ears. He did not want to look as though he would be running away as he hurried over to the door of his office through the bullpen. He could only force himself to grin so often, after all, when he would not mutter that it wasn’t right to celebrate the death of another human being like this.

Never before, as he fell into his chair, had he missed Harvey’s presence like this. Never before had he felt the need to call Harvey so badly before. Last time he had seen his partner had been during Don Falcone’s funeral before Harvey had given him back his badge and gun. It shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it had, in the end. Jim’s betrayal had been too much for the old Irish grouch and he couldn't hold it against him either. There was only so much a man could take - even a man as hardened by this city as Harvey Bullock.

While the precinct erupted into excited cheers around him at the news of Oswald's death,  Jim was locking himself in his office to take a deep breath and fight for composure. There was no telling what his colleagues might think about his odd behavior. Should he not rejoice now that the Penguin was finally dead? Should he not be proud that he finally did what he should have done all those years ago at the pier?

He did not find joy in any of this, though. Oswald and he might not always have seen eye to eye but there was no denying that today Gotham had lost one of her most brilliant minds and a true son of this city, hardened and shaped by her. Regardless of their differences, Oswald had always helped him when he had really needed him. In the end, they had put their differences aside and found ways to work together against all odds if the fate of this city had demanded it. He did not know what convinced him to leave the precinct and head for Harvey’s bar eventually later that day after the night had already swallowed Gotham whole but that was exactly what he did. After that whole fiasco with Pyg, they had not talked but Jim needed to see a friendly face tonight - or, well, at least Harvey’s face.

»Congratulations!« The tone of the Irishman’s voice was one of mock as he stood behind the dirty birchwood counter with an equally dirty dish towel over his left shoulder. He was a great cop and most people gave him too little credit for his intelligence and savviness but there was no denying that he looked like he belonged here. »What's with the long face, Captain Gordon? Shouldn't you be dancing on a table right now? You finally finished what you started! I already started to believe that this little fucker was truly unkillable.«

He sunk heavily on one of the creaky and entirely untrustworthy barstools. The counter was a bit sticky as he places his hands on the wood. Of course, he did not exactly expect Harvey to greet him with anything but hostility and certainly not with open arms either.

»Whiskey.« He mumbled even though his voice was so heavy that speaking alone felt like an impossible task tonight.

»Not for you.«

»What?«

»You heard me.« Harvey’s voice remained unwavering and calm as he spoke. »Jim, if you want to drown your bad conscience in alcohol because you finally got what you wanted and now can't live with it, go somewhere else. None of this needed to happen, Jim! Oswald would not have needed to die today and neither did Don Falcone if you would just have stayed put and waited until Penguin would have destroyed himself with his Pax Penguina!«

»I did what I had to do!« He snapped as he got off the stool again. »I did what you should have done!«

»No, Jim! You went and found a gangster to help you with your Penguin problem and thus created a bigger problem in the end - like you always do! Oswald at least loved this city! There is no telling what horrors you have unleashed upon Gotham now! So, no, Jim. You don't get my sympathy because once again you decided to be holier than thou and refused to listen to my warning! You are not welcome here anymore, Captain.«

The night seemed even bleaker as he left the pub to head home. Well, what had he expected from his former partner and best friend? Oswald was gone and the skies were weeping for him. Sofia Falcone had won the fight with Oswald and he had helped her to destroy him, in the end. Harvey was right, whether he liked to admit it or not. So much what had happened throughout the last years could be traced back to the decisions that Jim had made - like letting Oswald live.

Don Falcone would perhaps still be in charge if Oswald would have died on that pier - or maybe Fish would be in charge then. And once again, Jim had made a decision and he had underestimated Sofia Falcone. Once again, he had only seen that gorgeous woman and not thought any further than that. And now it was too late. There was nothing that could be done about it now. Maybe Oswald would have destroyed himself sooner or later. One might argue that this was exactly what he had done. Had he not come up with that ridiculous licensing system, Jim might have never felt inclined to ask Falcone for help.

Enough of this! Thinking about the what-ifs would not help anyone - especially not Jim.

He knew exactly what - or rather who - was waiting for him that night as he returned to his crappy little apartment. Yet, Sofia Falcone looked ridiculously out of place in his small one-room apartment, sitting in his armchair that was stained with God-knows-what. She was as stunningly beautiful as always and yet Jim saw her for what she was now: a blood red rose with dangerous poisonous thorns. A snake. Fittingly, the very same kind of rose she had went to pick before her father had been killed so senselessly in front of his own house in a hail of bullets. The smile she granted him was as pretty as it was deadly. It reminded him much of Oswald’s smiles - only less shark-like, less threateningly, more sickening.

Oh, how had he been so blind?

»I heard about the tragedy with our dear Penguin.« Sofia said and her voice was sweet as honey and as smooth as velvet as she did. »What a shame. He was still so young - taken long before his time.«

»I agree.« He shrugged as he walked over to his fridge as if she wasn't even there. »He was taken long before his time. Another senseless death.«

»That sounds a lot like regret.«

»I wished it would be different, yes.«

»He was a child-killer.« Sofia smiled sweetly as if he really needed a reminder of Oswald’s crimes. He had seen the file and he remembered how sick he had felt when he had first heard of the incident under the Crown Point Bridge. »Do you wish it would have been you or … do you wish it would have been me instead?« Her brown eyes resting on him were like those of a hawk focussing on its prey. This time, he would not make the mistake of underestimating her.

»We need to talk.«

»I agree.«

»I’m gonna ask you not to do what you are about to do.«

»Which is?«

»Unify the gangs, put the Falcones back in charge of the underworld.«

»But, wasn't that our deal?« She gave her best impression of being actually surprised by his words. »I’d replace Penguin, you’d be the law and I’d be the order.« How could he have ever fallen for that woman’s tricks as he had left Gotham to visit Falcone all those weeks ago? He had been lured into her trap so far away from the gloomy city that was Gotham under the warm light of the sun. Being out there had felt like a little vacation and the same held true for his encounter with her.

»No.« He stated instead and closed the fridge with a can of cheap root beer in his hand. »And if you try and take over, I have to come after you.«

»James.« She chuckled. The sound stung in his chest as it reminded him so much of the way Oswald would sometimes say his name in a moment of utter exasperation with the cop - or amusement. The syllables of his name dropping from Oswald’s lips like expensive red wine. »You are nothing if not predictable. Now that Oswald is dead, I think it's time you hear my proposal.«

»I’m not interested.« He snapped quickly but Sofia’s smile only grew more sinister at his words and even before she spoke next, he already heard the movement behind him coming from his bedroom door.

»I think you are.«

※※※※※※※

The day of Penguin’s funeral was a bleak one regardless of the fact that Gotham should rejoice. In just twenty-four hours, Gotham had not only lost Oswald Cobblepot but had been freed from Professor Pyg as well. In his head, Sofia’s words still echoed as he stood in the old graveyard underneath a black umbrella as Oswald once had when he and Jim had first met.

» _How many cops died under the Pax Penguina? Not one. It was you who couldn't stomach it._ «

He had not expected that there would be many people attending the funeral but seeing it now was almost heartbreaking. A local priest from Oswald’s old neighborhood where he had been raised and lived with his mother held the sermon as the coffin, a simple oakwood box, was lowered into the ground right next to the grave of Gertrud Kapelput. Of course, Oswald would want to be laid to rest at his mother’s side even though half of Gotham would have wanted him to be thrown into a pit in the ground without a headstone or anything to mark his grave. The priest was at least nice enough to actually say a few personal things about Oswald. After all, he had known him since birth, had baptized him, had seen him grow up and become the man he now was.

He spoke about the young Oswald Cobblepot who had attended church every Sunday with his mother and sometimes alone when his mother needed to work. He spoke about a person so very different from the Oswald Jim got to meet years later that he was almost convinced that he was not even talking about the same person.

Besides the priest and Jim himself, only a few other people were attending the funeral. He could see Ivy Pepper standing at the other side of the open grave next to Gabe Visconti, one of Oswald's most trusted henchman. Gabe actually seemed saddened by his boss’s death while Ivy was carefully dabbing a tissue to her cheeks every now and again. Still, it was a lonely ceremony with not even a handful of people around including the undertaker. And what had he expected? He was kinda glad that Oswald did not need to witness the lack of attendance. A part of him had been certain he would see Ed Nygma here but not even Oswald’s former best friend found it necessary to come now.

He couldn't say that he knew the complete story between those two, of course, but he could only assume that their friendship had taken quite the drastic turn, judging by the fact that Oswald had put him on ice for quite some time and that Edward had once betrayed Barbara out of his raging desire to kill Oswald.

It was sad and Jim felt oddly hollow how he stood at the grave and threw a fist full of dirt on the coffin. He was the last one to remain at the gravesite even after the priest had already left. He just needed to collect his thoughts as he stood there in the rain underneath his black umbrella and remembered the first time he had seen Oswald, a pastry-faced ambitious umbrella boy under Fish Mooney. Four years had passed since then and more often than not, Jim had wondered what might have been if things had turned out differently between them. Not even the sound of wet footsteps on the grass behind him made him turn around or look up from the gravestone.

»Who would have thought that we would get to see this day? It’s actually a little sad, isn't it? Feels like the end of an era.«

He was not surprised to find Harvey here - at least not as surprised as one might have expected him to be. Whatever differences they might have had, no matter how Harvey had felt towards Oswald in the past, in the end, their lives had been woven together undeniably. They had fought side by side quite a few times. Not even Harvey Bullock could truly deny that connection between the gangster and the GCPD - not only Jim.  

»I imagine you are glad to see this day. Came here to gloat?«

»Well, aren't _you_ glad?« Harvey huffed as he stopped right next to Jim. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw him take a swig from his flask before shoving it back into the inside pocket of his worn leather jacket. »I just had to see it for myself how he is buried. Then again, at least we knew what he was capable of, right? Better the devil you know. Let me tell you: I am glad not to be a cop anymore. At least now I don't have to deal with the fallout of this situation. I imagine Sofia wants to take over now - or Barbara again? You have a tendency to stick your dick in crazy.«

»Please, Harvey.« Jim frowned. »Not today. Not now. Not here.«

»I see.« His ex-partner hummed. »I guess our dear avian friend really was the one who got away, huh?«

He bid the inside of his cheek so that he would not say something stupid. It just wasn't worth it. Harvey, even if he would not hold a grudge against him right now, was not privy to the secrets buried deep inside of him.

»I am not blind, you know?« His voice had gone surprisingly soft. »I know about you and Penguin. So, I am sorry for you that he’s dead but we all know that it would end like this sooner or later.«

Even as he later arrived back at his apartment, he felt as if he was still carrying Oswald's lifeless corpse with him. His apartment was a place that was meant to feel safe but ever since Sofia had been sitting in his dirty armchair, ever since he had shot Pyg in this very room, all he could think about was burning this place to the ground. Perhaps, Harvey had a point. He really had a habit of sticking his dick in crazy. Barbara, Lee, Sofia … Oswald.

Then again, in his defense, Oswald had been mad as a hatter long before they met or shared their first night together in his apartment in a drunken haze. He had thought countless times about telling Harvey but, in the end, he had always refrained from it. He had been certain that Harvey wouldn't understand, despite his own history with Fish Mooney. Then again, Fish was a woman and this was difference enough for a man like Harvey.

His ex-partner was not homophobic in any way but Oswald … Well, Oswald had always been a sore topic. And really, what would it have mattered if he knew? It had only been an affair, after all. Sex every now and then when both of them had felt especially desperate. In fact, he remembered a night during Oswald’s time as mayor when the younger man came to him with a broken heart, hoping that Jim might be able to soothe his pain. He hadn’t asked about it back then but he had gladly tried to get over his own heartache that night. In the end, none of them had felt better.

The biggest surprise he ever got in the aftermath of Oswald Cobblepot’s demise was the visit Lee Thompkins paid him late at night just one day after the funeral. She arrived at his dirty apartment around midnight just after Jim had arrived back at his home - as if she would have known it. Then again, there was no one who knew him better than his ex-fiance. No one who was alive, at least. Seeing Leslie after all that time again was odd but he couldn't deny that he felt a certain sense of joy swell up inside of him at her sight. She was like the beam of a lighthouse in a stormy sea.

Of course, the chances that they would ever get back together were slim to none existent at this time. Too much water under the bridge, too many bad decisions, too much grief. They shared a drink at his crappy little table in solitude for what Jim thought was just another visit of someone who wanted something from him. This seemed to be a common trend recently. And yet, Lee surprised him once more as she finally opened her mouth to speak.

»I heard about Oswald.« She hummed and took a small sip of whiskey. She had always been more of a wine-girl in the past but now she didn't even bat a lash. The virus and her time in the Narrows had changed her quite a bit. »I’m sorry that it ended like this.«

»No, you are not.« Jim sighed. »Come on, Lee. No one, let alone you, is sad that he is dead.«

»I didn't say that I was sad that he is dead. I said that I am sorry that it ended the way it did.« She snubbed as she took another sip of his cheap whiskey. »I think that it didn't need to happen the way it did, that's all.«

»I didn't think you would even care.«

»Well, I can't deny that Oswald was a part of our downfall.« Lee shrugged. »And since he had a hand in all of this, whether intentionally or not, I will not sit here and shed tears for him. But I can see that his death affected you.«

»Isn't this odd?«

»Not at all.« Lee huffed. »You have history.«

Much more than Lee actually knew but Jim was smart enough to keep his mouth shut about that. What he had shared with Oswald in the past, had been purely physical. And still, Oswald Cobblepot, to this day, was the only man he might have been able to fall in love with if given the chance. However, they had only searched for physical contact with each other in times of crisis and with other people on their minds.

»Honestly, I would be more concerned if you would not be bothered at all by his death.« Lee added with a small smile and reached over the table to take a hold of his hand for just a moment. Her skin was warm against his and he shuddered as he remembered how cold Oswald’s skin had felt that day at the club.

»Speaking of history.« Jim hummed. »How is Ed taking it?«

Lee breathed a deep sigh and paused just a moment as if she honestly needed to think about it first. The fact that Lee had aligned herself with Ed Nygma was still troubling to Jim. After all, as much as Oswald had had a hand in their downfall, Ed too was to be blamed for that. »He is a mess - and that's putting it nicely. He tries not to look or appear a mess but he is clearly not dealing with it very well.«

»He has always been unstable.«

»Not like this, though. I’m afraid he might go back to this whole Riddler-persona he had going on before Oswald put him on ice. He is talking to himself when he thinks no one notices. It's starting to creep people out.« It was creeping her out. She didn't need to say it for Jim to know what she meant. She was starting to fear Edward Nygma and Lee Thompkins had once been in the same room as a freshly, faceless resurrected Jerome Valeska and not shown any signs of fear to that maniac. She was strong and capable but Edward Nygma was insane.

»What are you saying?« Jim sighed. »Do you want me to arrest him and send him to Arkham?«

»Of course, not.« She huffed as if he made a joke.

»I could, though. He is still a wanted criminal, after all.« They shared a rare laugh between them as if Jim had just said something incredibly funny. Maybe, in another world, his words were that funny too and less sad than they felt now.

»You changed.«

»Of course, I have.« Jim sighed. »You know, when I first came to Gotham, I was dead set on cleaning up this city, on turning it all upside down. I filed reports against crooked cops left, right, and center and threw every little criminal I could find into Blackgate. I wanted to honor my father’s legacy, I wanted to fill his boots and make Gotham a better, safer place. But in everything I’ve done, it seemed I only made it worse. Odd how the best intentions always seem to lead to the worst outcomes. When I didn’t shoot Oswald on that pier four years ago, I thought I was doing the right thing and that I don't want to become just one more crooked cop like my partner and everyone around me. In the end, in not killing Oswald, I helped to start a mob war - and in turn, helped kickstart everything that happened after that. Galavan included. Had I not saved Oswald, I would have never been sent to prison for Galavan’s murder and you would have never lost our daughter.«

The memory of their loss still gnawed on Jim every night when he tried to go to sleep. Every day he tried to imagine that little girl they would have had. She would be two years old now. She would have her mother’s intelligence and perhaps his sense of moral - only with the talent of making better decisions. He would walk around with her on his shoulders and she would run up to him when he would come home in the evening. Sometimes he wanted to ask Lee if she still thought about it too but then he never did.

»That was Edward’s doing, Jim.« Lee urged and grabbed his hand harder. »He wanted you in jail because he was afraid you would discover what really happened to Kristen Kringle. Never forget that, Jim. Not every bad thing that happened in the past four years, can be traced back to you. Though I know that you really enjoy yourself in the role of a martyr, perhaps you should not take yourself as so important.« Her little wink drew a chuckle from his throat.

»I regret so many things, though.«

»That's okay.« Lee sighed. »We all have things we regret, Jim. We can only try and move forward from them and make better decisions now.«

»I agree.« Jim smiled before the seriousness returned to his face. »That's why I only ask of you to call me as soon as you start feeling uncomfortable in Edward’s presence. He is a psychopath, never forget that.  I want you to be safe, Lee. Regardless of what happened between us in the past - or perhaps because of it. Please never underestimate Ed Nygma.«

»I won't.« She smiled and downed the last drops of her drink before raising to her feet but still not releasing his hand. »I won't.« She assured again. »And you stay safe too, okay? I have the feeling that there is another war coming and this time we all need to stick together and have each other's backs.«

He felt empty as he sat alone in the dim light of his flat later that night, downing his fourth glass of Whiskey. He knew that he was behaving out of character and should get his shit together. Sitting in the darkness and mourning his failures wouldn't help anyone. He needed to be on top of his game from now on if he didn't want Sofia Falcone to win over him. Oswald Cobblepot had been dangerous, yes, but this woman was truly wicked. Someone who defeated Oswald had to be, he assumed.

Yet, as the prepaid phone that he had purchased a week ago rang around midnight that night, he felt relief wash over him for a second. He took the call without much hesitation but didn't say anything.

»We received your package.« A voice on the other end said in a monotone, uninterested voice. »It will be handled accordingly. However, we cannot promise for its safety.«

Jim hung up after that. There was nothing to say. He had heard what he needed to hear. Everything was clear. So, in the end, he stared at the phone for another second before breaking it in half and throwing it into his trash can. For a few minutes, Jim stood at the window in his kitchen and looked outside, marveling at the lights of Gotham city. Tomorrow would be a new day and the sun would rise again.

 

**-End of Chapter 3-**


	4. Chapter 4

The worst was the screams in the night. One might assume that, by now, he had gotten used to the sounds of the insane banging their heads against steel doors or bed frames. He had not. He could deal with most things the asylum could throw at him but the screams at night, the sounds … those were something else entirely. Worse than any nightmare his brain would ever be able to conjure up to torture him with. At night, the screams of the insane became the agonizing wails of pigs being sent to the slaughter. A disturbing little lullaby. In many cases, this might even be true especially since the asylum was run by lunatics these days - very much unlike his first stay at the asylum.

One might say what they want about Hugo Strange but the good professor at least had a plan and a grip on things.

As he lay in the darkness of his moldy cold cell and stared at the ceiling, he felt the ghost of past events brushing over him, laying down on top of his restless body like a thick blanket of snow. He could still feel the freezing cold grip of death settling into his bones and his very core before drowning him in an endless abyss of darkness.

Around him, the screams only grew in volume and as he screwed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his ears, he was catapulted back into a whole other kind of darkness, back into the memories of when he was dead and unfeeling.

※※※※※※※

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He was not tied up but his limbs were constricted by his immediate surroundings and the poison rushing through his veins. His world was entirely black and his body manhandled like a ragdoll without him having the ability to do anything about that.

They were not very respectful or, god forbid, gentle in their treatment of his lifeless body and despite the drug in his system, he felt every bump and shove as the car in which he had been thrown into seemingly deliberately hit every single pothole Gotham had to offer on the way to the GCPD. He was awake as they took him out of the van. He was awake as they put him on the gurney and delivered him through the back entrance of the GCPD. He was awake as people murmured around him, curious police officers who so happened to need to visit the morgue to have a look until the doors were locked out of respect for the victim. He was awake as they reopened the eyes Jim Gordon had previously closed. He was awake as they undressed him and placed him on the metal table to cover most of him with a thin sheet. He was awake and staring unblinkingly against the blinding lights of the room and the flash of a camera as they took the photos of his face. Even as they zipped him back up into a black plastic bag, he was awake - conscious.

The photos of his deadly injuries had already been faked as well as the report the mortician was going to write later that same day.

A part of him thought that undressing him and taking photos had been meant to humiliate him. He wouldn't be surprised at the very least. Never had he been more vulnerable than in this moment. His journey was seemingly endless. Time had no meaning for him anymore and for a while, he felt like Juliet waiting for the saving kiss of her beloved Romeo. In that case, he was doomed, of course.

»You could have at least dressed him again!« The voice was familiar as it yelled at someone - presumably the people who had brought him here. Wherever _here_ was. He felt like he should know this. He felt like he should be able to name the people around him, especially that lady with the high-pitched voice. His mind was foggy, though.

He seemed to drift in and out of consciousness all the time now. Maybe, under different circumstances, this realization would have scared him but whenever he was conscious, his brain seemed to work only at a very rudimentary level, just enough to have his body function, just enough to at least allow him a very basic understanding of his surroundings.

»I mean, geez! He is freezing cold!«

»It was supposed to look real, wasn't it?« Someone, a man with a deep nasal voice and a strong Irish accent, barked back at the lady.

»Is that why you kept his eyes open too?« The lady hissed and it was then that a face appeared night above him. It was a blur of white and red and green. »Poor thing! Show some goddamn respect! Imagine how terrifying the journey must have been like this!«

»Miss Ivy?« There was another voice, another man speaking up. He knew that voice! He knew it! Still, his mind could not provide him with a name. »Do you want me to pay them now?«

»Yes, please do that, Gabe.« The woman said. »And please remind them how important it is to keep silent about all of this.«

»Sure thing, Miss!« Gabe! Good old Gabe... In the end, he had been loyal after all.

There were footfalls echoing around him, then a loud thud as if a door feel shut and soon after two deafening bangs. »Well, there we are! Just as you wanted, Pengy. Don't worry, Gordon will never know! Oh, right … You can't talk. Maybe we should get you warmed up…«

※※※※※※※

He was shaken awake by the screeching sound of his door being unlocked. At some point in the night, he had fallen asleep. The drugs still lingered in his system and as he laid there blinking slowly, he wasn't even able to tell how much time had slipped through the cracks between his fingers. It could have been hours or might have been days. He felt foggy as he returned to the world of the living - just as it had been as he had awoken from his death-like state just a few days ago under the care of Ivy Pepper and her healing hands.

Pins and needles were the only sensation he truly experienced all over his body as life returned to his extremities.

Being dead for a few hours had turned out to be the source of many nightmares for Oswald while the rest of Gotham was still celebrating his death. He was not naive about it. He knew that no one was actually mourning his passing. He had died as he had lived, unloved and unwanted. Inside of Arkham, no one knew of his demise, of course. The patients had no access to these kinds of information. They were stuck in limbo in these ancient halls, living in an unbreakable bubble forced upon them by drugs and _therapy_.

The idea of coming back to Arkham freely hadn't come easily to him but it had been the only way of keeping not only himself relatively safe but Ivy and Gabe as well. Much rather he would have stayed at the abandoned greenhouse Ivy called her own just outside of town but it had been too risky for both Ivy and Gabe to leave the city too often just to look after him. So, after only two days of recovery, on the night that had followed his funeral, he had been put in the back seat of a car with tinted windows and driven into Arkham.

Although he wasn't alone, strictly speaking, and not surrounded by plants anymore but living breathing people that just wouldn't shut up, his new surroundings did nothing to keep the ghosts of his past mistakes at bay. He could see them take human shape and linger always on the edges of his field of vision. The faces they wore were too familiar to look at them directly, their stares piercing and painful. The quieter it would get around him, the louder their taunts would become and the harder it got to ignore them.  The new drugs he was forced to take here in Arkham, did not help either.

How could he have been so stupid to underestimate Sofia Falcone? Had he truly been this arrogant? Had he truly been this starved for at least some semblance of friendship that he had allowed himself to be manipulated by her?

In the end, she had only needed a foot rub, a good goulash, and an orphan boy to gain his trust -  or rather to make him lower his defenses. Her manipulation tactics had been too obvious, too clumsy - and deliberately so as he now came to realize. He had underestimated her … He had lowered his guard … He had played right into her cards and he had lost the fight - but not the war. There was still hope. And yet, that didn't change anything about the fact that Sofia Falcone had seen him weak, seen right through his veneer of power and violence and seen a man broken by betrayal time and time again, a man craving a shoulder to lean onto, a man desperate for a friend he could confide in. She had always known what to say to make him dance like a puppet on strings. Much like Edward had known what to say to him back in the day.

Ed. Edward Nygma. He wondered how he might have reacted to the news of his death. Had he been happy to hear about his former best friend’s demise? Had he been angry, perhaps, that it had not been him who had ultimately killed him but Jim Gordon, his nemesis?

Oh, and Jim. How was he coping? He should probably not waste another thought on James Gordon and yet, though it wasn't real, the moment Jim had shot him had been very real. It was almost as if they had drawn a line under everything that had happened between them in the past as he had pulled the trigger and as the bullet had penetrated the bag of fake blood sewn into his bulletproof vest. He was still amazed by how well this all had worked out. The risk of someone shooting him in the head had always been at the forefront of his mind, after all. Ivy’s drug had worked in a matter of seconds after he had dropped to the floor of the Iceberg Lounge.

Certainly, Barbara Kean would soon dig her claws back into his club and make it the Sirens’ club again. Maybe he would allow her to keep it this time. He could always reopen the Iceberg Lounge someplace else. He needed to choose his battles more wisely as soon as he would leave this place. He needed to estimate who was worth fighting with and who wasn't. But maybe it was too soon to plan his future wars.

»You seem very absent today, Mr. Cobblepot.« Only the voice of the doctor sitting cross-legged in front of him and tapping the head of his pen against his notebook was able to pull Oswald from his thoughts. How long had he been sitting here? How did he even get here? He remembered waking up in his cold cell. But how … When … Was this still the side effects of Ivy’s drug playing tricks on his mind?

»I don't understand why you prescribed me all these pills, Doc.« He finally replied as he kept the urge at bay to pull at his own hair or dig his fingers into his eyes. He felt antsy. He didn't feel like himself. All of this was wrong. He needed Ivy. He wanted to talk to Ivy, ask her about the drug, ask her about the side effects, ask her if this was normal or if he was going crazy. Maybe being dead for almost twenty-four hours had driven him insane.

Wait … How long was he here again?

»What do you mean?« The man in front of him spoke again. Dr. Santoro was a man with fleeing grey hair, a high forehead and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that indicated years and years of working with the insane. He was a man hardened by his profession and the stories he had heard. A man who had once been passionate about wanting to help the insane and less fortunate souls of Gotham - a man broken by decades of working in this facility and being confronted with pure evil at times.

»I mean« He started rubbing his temples even though he didn't want to. His head hurt and there was this constant buzzing in his ears - not to mention that deep throaty laughter of the man in the green suit who lingered in the corner of the office right behind Oswald. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know that he was there. »I mean« This time he put more force into his words and determination in his eyes as he looked at the man before him. »You know why I am here, right?«

»Of course.« Dr. Santoro replied with furrowed brows.

»Why I am _really_ here, Doc. You know that those drugs are not necessary for my recovery. Haven't we agreed that you would give me placebos to make it look real for the other patients and the staff who aren't aware of our little arrangement?«

»And what _arrangement_ would that be, Mr. Cobblepot?«

»The arrangement that my henchmen will not kill your entire family as long as you and your immediate staff keep their mouth shut about me being here - about me not being dead and buried.«

»Mr. Cobblepot … This again?« The doctor let out a shaky little sigh. »I thought we had discussed this already.«

»Discussed what?« He bit out but even he had to agree that his voice was lacking in venom these days. He was too tired, his brain too mushy. It was the drugs. Right?

»Your delusion of grandeur, for example.« Dr. Santoro replied patiently and still tapping his pen against the notepad. Despite the monotony of the sound, Oswald couldn't deny that it was almost as hypnotizing as the clicking of a metronome. »This story you tell yourself. There has been no arrangement made between us. You came to Arkham Asylum to recover from the loss of your mother, remember?«

»That was two years ago!« Oswald almost shouted at the man.

»It was.« The doctor sighed again in agreement. »And you were released but lately you suffered a very serious relapse. Don't you remember the pills?«

»What pills?« He hissed.

»The pills you took two days ago - to end your life.«

»I didn't take any pills!« He jumped from his chair and as he saw how the doctor already reached for the alarm button on his desk, he held out his hands in surrender and sat back down. »Please explain this to me, Doc.«

»You were brought here three days ago, Mr. Cobblepot. You were incoherent and talked about a conspiracy against you, about the orphan boy you killed and that he isn't dead. You claimed that you faked your death to escape Sofia Falcone’s wrath so you would be able to regain your power over Gotham before killing her. We had to sedate you that night of your admittance because you tried to kill one of the nurses. You claimed he looked like your former chief of staff, Mr. Nygma. Then, two days ago, you somehow managed to sneak into the supply room and stole a bunch of sleeping pills. You almost died, Mr. Cobblepot.«

»No … No that's not true.« Oswald frowned. »That's not what happened. I would remember stuff like this, wouldn't I? Why don't I … Why can't I remember?«

»That's normal, Mr. Cobblepot.« The doctor’s voice was calm as he relaxed in his chair again. »Don't worry about that. It's just the side effects of your new medicine. You are still very much in the adaption phase, after all.«

Adaption phase. It sounded so wrong. Something was wrong but he couldn't put his finger on it. There was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind, this itch he wasn't able to scratch. Maybe the doctor was right, though. Maybe there was no conspiracy. Maybe he had not faked his death. It sounded too fabulous anyway, right? How would he have been able to pull that off with just Ivy and Gabe? He loved Ivy but she was not exactly the brightest and neither was Gabe. No, he was probably right. Something had happened to him and he had had a breakdown.

Martin.

Yes. That was it. He had killed Martin. He had flipped the switch and killed that little boy. And Zsasz had gone against him as well. But why … For what reason? He couldn't remember. The plan had been that Martin would crawl through a hole in the bottom of the car into the safety of the sewers before Oswald would flip the switch, right? Had Martin survived or not? The memories were so fuzzy. He had blown up the car and Victor had betrayed him. Martin was dead. Victor had betrayed him and Martin was dead. He had not held onto his end of the bargain and got Martin back safely to the Iceberg Lounge. But why? Falcone. Victor thought he had killed Falcone and so he had taken the boy from him as retaliation.

That made sense, yes. That made much more sense than him faking his own death and getting smuggled into Arkham with just the help of two imbeciles like Ivy and Gabe. He would have never freely set foot into this building again, after all.

»Who brought me here?«

»A man.« The doctor shrugged. »He wouldn't put down his information, though. He vanished before we could get back to him. He said he found you at the outskirts of town and that he thought you might be a case for the asylum since you did not show any signs of injury.«

»My empire … I can't stay here…«

»Mr. Cobblepot« The voice of the doctor became deeper and more serious as he leaned a little forward in his seat. Finally, the tapping of his pen stopped. »your empire … You lost it about a week ago to Sofia Falcone. Don't you remember?«

»What?«

»There was this whole scandal with the death of Don Falcone and your fight with his daughter before you snapped and blew up your car in which an orphan boy sat. That was about a week ago now and it was then that your allies switched sides to Sofia Falcone. It was all over the news. Gotham is now back in Falcone-hands again.«

»No that can't be true … No, no, no...«

»Maybe we should raise the dose on your tranquilizers a little. You seem quite upset.«

»Of course, I am upset!« He jumped up from his chair again. »My empire lies in ruins - again! Everything I worked so hard for snatched away by this bitch! I have no one left! Everyone betrays me at every twist and turn!«

»Mr. Cobblepot please sit back down. We talked about that. That's just your paranoia speaking.«

»I don't want to sit down!«

»I’m afraid we can’t talk about it and find a solution to your troubles if you won’t sit down and talk to me calmly.«

He didn't know what had possessed him to jump forward and grab the letter opener from the doctor’s desk but, in the end, it was of little importance anyway. Before he could even draw blood, the doc had pushed the alarm button on his desk and the door had flung open. Later, as he found himself sitting in a chair in the common room of the asylum he felt drained and weak. How much time had passed since his conversation with the doctor?

He couldn't remember what had happened after he had lunged for the letter opener. He remembered that he wanted to hurt him, maybe kill him even. And then - nothing. He was losing time again and again and again as it seemed and there was nothing he could do about it now as he sat in the common room and mindlessly stare at the TV. There was a kids show running that he vaguely remembered from his own childhood. Hadn't he spent his Sunday mornings after church sitting on the pink carpet in front of the TV watching this show until his eyes hurt? What was it called again? He couldn't remember. He felt like he should remember.

Something fell into his lap but as he looked down, he only found a dog-eared playing card. He took it gingerly and turned it around to reveal the picture of the joker.

»You know as I heard that you were here, I thought that the party finally started but since you arrived all you do is mope!« He recognized the voice even though he was much more familiar with the shrill laughter that belonged to the lunatic that had terrorized Gotham for an entire night and allowed Edward Nygma to try and murder him amidst all this chaos.

Before he could actually do anything about it - not that he would have had the energy to do anything - Jerome Valeska had already jumped over the backrest of the couch and flopped down right next to him and much too close for comfort. In his thirty-three years of life, Oswald had seen many weird people and more than enough of insane lunatics too. Still, there was something about Jerome that was outright menacing even to Oswald Cobblepot, the terror of Gotham. It wasn't even the unnatural smile that was carved into his face or the scars, not the blackened dead skin around his sunken eyes. Jerome Valeska had something about him, something about the way he moved and held himself, something about those dead brown eyes, that scared the living crap out of him.

»Is this seat taken?« Jerome grinned as he brought his face closer to Oswald’s.

»If I say yes, would it make a difference?« Despite the drugs in his system or the loopiness he felt, he hated how weak and thin his voice sounded. It wasn't supposed to sound like this. He was the Penguin, after all. He was the head of the underworld! Well, not anymore as it seemed. He had lost everything again and this time he had nothing to return to and no friends to help him. He was alone. He was lost.

»You know I’ve always been a fan. When I heard you got locked up in this looney bin, I expected great things. A murder or two. Maybe a prison break? But all you’ve done is mope. You know if there is one thing I cannot stand it is boredom. And the last person who bored me was Dietrich.« Jerome pointed to the unfortunate man who sat on a stool in one corner of the room, his mouth hanging open and staring mindlessly into the world like a goldfish. »So, I snuck into his shock therapy session and boosted the juice. Now he pees himself ten times a day and sometimes poops himself.«

His grin was that of a small boy who had just ripped the legs of a butterfly or some other unfortunate little insect off. People might say what they want about him, that he was a sociopath perhaps even, but at least Oswald had never unnecessarily tortured or killed small animals - or people, for that matter. Jerome, on the other hand … He could see him as a small boy burning ants with a magnifying glass and the light of the sun.

»Well, that's very sad.« He replied after a moment of gathering his thoughts. It wasn't easy to untangle the mess in his head. It was like walking through quicksand or a swamp.

»I’m gonna cure you of that attitude!« Jerome laughed and grabbed his shoulder firmly but with the gesture of a friend who tried to instill a little hope in his depressed buddy. »I'm gonna find that entertaining guy I know is inside of you! And when I do … Oh … We are gonna have so much fun together.«

※※※※※※※

There had been a time when Oswald had loved to take long hot baths. He had never been a great fan of showers but rather enjoyed the ritual of taking a long bath instead. It was just more sophisticated, he thought. Taking a bath in Arkham usually meant lying in a tin tub filled with lukewarm water at best in a row of tin tubs only separated by a half-heartedly put folding screen with a nurse sitting on a stool next to the tub to take care the patients wouldn't harm themselves.

In other words, taking a bath in Arkham Asylum was not very comfortable or relaxing. Not to mention that, usually, the nurses would let their patients soak until the water was almost unbearably cold. So, he preferred taking a shower because staying dirty was not an option in a place like this. Even with his brain being mush, he knew how quickly disease was spreading in places like this. And, more importantly, he wanted to be good, right? Because if he would be good, he would get out of here - just like last time.

The water was cold as he stood under the spray of the shower with his back turned to the rest of the room. He hated being so exposed. He had hated those showers in his youth already - always being the target of abuse and bullying had not really improved his group shower experience as a teen either. No wonder he dropped out of school.  

He wasn’t alone as there was one other patient with him, standing at as much distance as humanly possible on the opposite side of the room. However, this suddenly changed as the man, a heavy, timid, older man, suddenly yelped in horror and hurried out of the showers so quickly that he even forgot to switch off his shower. A few seconds after that, Oswald grew aware of the wet sounds of naked feet walking into the room. It was not just one person but a group - though the exact number was impossible to tell without turning around. He refused to turn around.

»Look what we have here!« A deep voice behind him chimed up. He had heard it before. At least he thought that he had. These days, it was not always so easy to know what was real and what only a figment of his overactive imagination, spurred on only by the drugs he had to take every day now. He still refused to turn around or even look over his shoulder though. It seemed best to stay silent and just ignore them. »If that isn't the Penguin!« Someone behind him let out a shrill little laughter that chilled him to the bone. He knew that laughter. He had heard it before - somewhere.

As he was dragging the soap down his body, he pointedly did not pay any attention to the new arrivals even though his heart was beating a thousand miles per second. Suddenly, he was back in high school again, surrounded by the jocks of his class, being beaten down, being mocked, being threatened. It wasn’t exactly easy to ignore the glances that he could almost feel tracing over his naked body like fingertips as he washed up. He had never been confident when it came to his body or the way he looked. He knew that he was odd. He knew that he was not exactly good looking. Yet there had been a time when James Gordon had desired him.

»Come on, you little snitch, don't you remember me?«

Before he knew it, a meaty hand landed on his shoulder and forced him to turn around as he was backed against the wall. The face in front of him was familiar even though it seemed a lifetime ago he had last seen it.

»Skinny Pete?« He gasped. Skinny Pete was perhaps the worst nickname for the huge man in front of him. It had always been meant as a joke but that had been back in Fish Mooney’s days. »I thought you were in Blackgate!«

»Oh, I was. Then I killed a few guards and played being crazy until they would send me here.« The man grinned down on him as he was quite a bit taller than Oswald was. »Imagine my surprise and joy when I heard you were here too!«

It was pure instinct that made Oswald press his backside tighter against the cold tiles behind him as he allowed his eyes to roam over the group before him. Besides Pete, there were four other guys but though taller and bigger than Oswald, most of them seemed to be the typical lunatics he was used to seeing in this building. He could not name one of them but he had seen them before.

»Remember the good old times with Fish?« Pete grinned menacingly. »When you were still just her little bitch? Barely good enough to suck some cock for her gain? Oh, we are gonna have so much fun together.«

Pete’s hand had moved between his legs faster than Oswald could react at first, horrified by the situation itself but certainly not willing to play the poor weak victim here either. As quickly as he could, he actually rammed his knee into the other man’s crotch. He knew that this would not do much for him, but it startled Pete enough to let go of him for a second and this second, Oswald used to leap away and out of his reach.

Oswald knew that he would not stand a chance in this scenario and that he would not be able to escape or run past the other guys. But at least he had shown his resistance, he thought. At least he had tried fighting back. At least he was not going down without a fight. He was Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, after all. And he would not be reduced to that same scrawny little thing he had been eighteen years ago when he had first started working for Miss Mooney.

The lunatics were quick to come out of their surprised stupor and tackled him to the ground with ease. He struggled with all he had against them as he was tossing on the ground just as they began kicking him in the ribs and his stomach. One foot connected painfully with his jaw and forced him to curl up into a ball in a desperate attempt of shielding his head. If they would injure his head he would not get the treatment he needed and he would just become one more drooling Dietrich in this asylum. His legacy would be reduced to shame and they would make a mockery out of him. No matter why he was here or how he had gotten himself into all this mess yet again, no matter what the truth actually was, he had to get out of here some way or another - and he had to do this with his mind still intact.

»Careful guys!« Pete laughed. »We still need his pretty little mouth! Would be a shame if we would punch out all your teeth, wouldn't it, Ozzie?«

»Actually, it would be.« The voice that came from the doorway made his blood run cold - and apparently, he was not the only person who felt this way because the barrage of kicks suddenly stopped as the men surrounding him quickly staggered away from him as if burned by his touch. He almost didn't dare to take his arms from around his head to look up. He didn't need to anyway. Jerome Valeska had a voice he would recognize under a thousand.

»Come to join in on the fun?« Pete asked.

»I think you might want to leave my good friend Oswald alone. I don't appreciate it much when someone touches my things.« It was not very surprising that even someone as Pete was quickly stepping back and only then, Oswald lowered his arms to look up at Jerome who stood in the doorway still in his uniform with his hands clasped behind his back.

»I wasn't aware that he’s your bitch.« Pete scoffed before he rose his hands in surrender. His goons were already awkwardly and hastily shuffling past Jerome and out of the showers but Jerome not once budged as Pete walked up to leave as well. »Sorry, Dude.«

It happened quickly as Jerome’s right hand shot out and Oswald only saw a flash of silver before blood was splattering on the ground and Pete sunk down on the tiles. Jerome seemed completely unfazed by the gurgling sounds Pete made as he crawled away from him and back into the center of the room. His blood was slowly mixing with the water from the running showers, going down the drain just like that as Jerome followed him slowly and turned him around on his back with his foot before he crouched down over him and stabbed him again, this time straight through his eye.

Oswald could only watch how Jerome continued stabbing the other man until he finally stopped groaning and moving. Only then did Jerome carefully watch off the blood from his switchblade under the spray of one of the showers and walked over to Oswald. He was surprised as Jerome offered him his hand to help him back to his feet and he was reluctant to grab it.

»You know how I see it, Oswald?« Jerome grinned as he looked down on him. »You could either accept my help … or stuff like this will happen again and again and again - and then I will not be there to help you. In fact, I might allow all those lunatics to jump you whenever they want to have their way with you.«

He felt sick as he looked up into Jerome’s grinning face. He knew that he was right, he knew that this was not an idle threat. He knew that Jerome would have no qualms sending his followers after him to make his life inside the asylum a nightmare. That was why he finally accepted his helping hand and allowed Jerome to pull him up.

»What do you gain from this?« Oswald groaned. His entire body was a world of agony and all he really wanted to do was curl up under his bed and act as if he wasn't even there.

»A bit of fun.« Jerome smirked as he let his eyes trail down Oswald’s naked body. »I told you I would cure you, didn't I?«

 

**-End of Chapter 4-**


	5. Chapter 5

_He stood trembling in the winter’s cold in front of the iron gates leading to the schoolyard. The yard was empty, the bell had already chimed to call the students inside. He was running late as always, something that was so out of character for him in his life outside of school that his mother would be scandalized by his behavior would she ever learn of it. Of course, she never got to see the letters the school would send. Yet, instead of rushing inside, he kept standing out here in his uniform and the snow, a pale, blonde, fifteen-year-old boy._

_The truth was that he wasn't trembling from the cold either. Ever since his first day of elementary school, his stomach would turn when he would just think about school. Unlike most other kids he knew, he couldn't remember even one single day at school that he had enjoyed in some form. It wasn't that he did not want to learn per se. He was, actually, a very quick learner. He was intelligent. He knew that he was clever. He knew that he was meant to achieve great things and that he was meant to outsmart others. His mind was his greatest weapons, even now. However, it was his mouth that always got him in trouble with the other children. No one likes a smart-ass._

_It was the bullying that kept him from hurrying inside. It was the bullying that riddled his sleep with nightmares and got him to lose his appetite dramatically especially in the past six months. He had been a chubby little kid when he had first started school all those years ago. His mother had been feeding him well. Now he couldn't even fill out his uniform. It hung loosely on him. He looked almost like an eleven-year-old trying on his big brother’s clothes._

_He could never tell his mother, of course. She was hardly able to pay for this school. Every day she was working so hard to give her boy the opportunity to visit a good school in a good neighborhood. He would tell her that he would be fine visiting the school in their own neighborhood in downtown but she would have none of that. Only the best for her little darling boy. But the bullying just never stopped._

_Everywhere he turned he just saw grimaces of demons that were out for his blood. And why? Because he was different? Because he was poor? Because he wore his school uniform with pride? Because of the way he talked? Because he was smarter than them? He was a freak to them. He knew that. He was going against the natural order of things. He was not supposed to be here. He was not supposed to visit this nice neighborhood and mingle with the children of the upper-middle-class. He and his mother were welcome to be working for those people, but they weren’t supposed to live in their spheres. He was the dirt under their expensive Italian leather shoes._

_He could not go inside, he decided on this morning in early December as the snow was pooling around him on the sidewalks. Rather he would freeze to death out here than to actually go inside and endure those taunts and the torture for another day. He was done being the punching bag for the other kids. It was time to make his own mark on the world._

_He had heard of this lady who gave outcasts like him a chance. Fish Mooney. Lost in thought, he turned the business card of her club, the Fish Bone, between his fingers, fidgeting with the small cardboard card. It already was dog-eared and looked as if it had been in the washing machine one too many times. He remembered one of his neighbors, a big guy named Butch, given it to him months ago as they had met on the hallway of their apartment building. He had just started working for Miss Mooney. Maybe, Oswald thought, it was time he would do the same thing as Butch now and finally take that chance._

※※※※※※※

The moment he closed his hands around the slender pale throat, the blood was rushing loudly through his whole body and the ringing in his ears made him deaf to everything else as he registered four things at the very same time.

Number one, he was actually able to touch the man in front of him. Number two, the fact that he was able to touch him meant that he was not a hallucination. Number three, if Oswald was not a hallucination, that meant he was not dead. Number four, Oswald had faked his death and so, Edward had come to Arkham for no reason!

Wait … Oswald’s death wasn't the reason why he came here, right? He wanted to protect Lee! Oswald's death had nothing to do with that! The question remained, though. Would he have ended up here in Arkham without the news of Oswald's death to kickstart him into action? Had the presence of the Riddler and the threat that he provided to Lee Thompkins sufficed to set him on this path?

Now that he realized that Oswald was still there - _still with him_ \- he did not want to give too much power or meaning to him. Because if Oswald's death had been the catalyst for all of this - what would this mean?

He did not get much time to ponder these thoughts as he was grabbed and pulled away from Oswald. It happened all so fast that his brain had a hard time following. Before he knew it, he was back in his cell and the door slammed shut and locked at once. At least it was not the padded cell again. At least no straight jacket again.

Being left to his own devices with just his thoughts to keep him company, however, was scarcely an improvement. At least, he thought, there was still noise around to keep him sane. And yet … Oswald was alive.

He stopped at that once more.

Oswald was alive and his skin warm under his hands as he tried to choke the life out of him. Looking back on it, he couldn't even tell what had gotten into him. His attack on Oswald had come naturally to him and before he had known it, he had already wrapped his hands around his throat - just like this. He had been pulled towards him like that ugly ass fridge magnet of a happy little crab to the door of his fridge. Of course, he refused to acknowledge the connection to the things Kristen and Isabella had said - no … Not them … his hallucinations!

» _Well it_ is _quite telling that you went straight for his throat though, isn’t it?_ «

»Oh my God, would you finally shut up!« Edward caught himself growling. »Just leave already!«

_»They will put you back in the straight jacket if they catch you talking to yourself … Or perhaps electroshocks? Well, wouldn't that be interesting?«_

Digging his nails into his scalp did nothing to ease his pounding headache and it did nothing to make the Riddler disappear at all either - despite him being noticeably absent from the padded cell and the horrors he had experienced inside that awful place.

The next time he was let out of his cell, the next morning had already come and Edward had fallen asleep somewhere along the way on this awful creaky bed that was way too narrow and short for him anyway. His whole entire body hurt as if he had been strapped to a medieval torture device for the duration of the night. When he woke up in the morning, his head was pounding even more than before. He felt like complete crap as he finally managed to get up from the bed, ignoring how his spine cracked all the way down, and walked out of his cell, dragging his feet on his way to the mess hall. Until the moment he got his food and walked into the cage once more, he had not even thought about Oswald.

The spell broke, however, the moment he walked into the mess hall and was confronted with his former best friend, his _nemesis_ , once more. Oswald was sitting with his back to him at a table further away from the entrance and close to one of the large windows overlooking the park with its dead trees and messy flower beds outside. Sometimes Ed wondered if someone actually took care of the park or if they just let it rot. Still, Ed would recognize Oswald’s back anywhere - or really, his messy mop of black hair that was sticking out in all directions in complete defiance of gravity.

Edward lingered until he was shoved almost hard enough by one of the armed guards to actually drop his tray. He was just about to bark at his assailant but then he caught a glimpse of the giant guy that reminded him a little too much of his old buddy Aaron Helzinger. He was even taller than Edward and at least twice his size with arms and legs like tree trunks. Definitely not the type of guy he wanted to be snarky with because he doubted that he would get this guy as easily under control as Helzinger last time. So, instead, Edward shuffled onwards.

Most seats were already taken and even at the tables where he would easily get a free spot, he much rather did not want to sit. He was not very keen on getting involved in the business of the other inmates, so to say. So, instead, as it seemed inevitable, he dragged himself over to Oswald’s table and sat down across from him, finding joy in the fact that at least he could destroy the view the former kingpin had. Oswald didn't even react to his arrival at first. He just stared and though his eyes were now pointed at Edward’s face, he seemed to look straight through him, unblinking, unflinching, as if Edward wasn’t even there.

Purple marks were blooming around his thin neck beautifully in the shapes of long, skilled, fingers and there was a moment when his heart gave a small jump at the sight. Realizing that he had been able to leave such a prominent mark on Oswald’s perfect lily-white skin filled him with excitement. Then again, his skin was more of a sickly yellow-ish tone these days. Oswald’s food was completely untouched as he just sat there staring mindlessly almost. His pupils were blown wider than they had any right to be. Was he still on drugs or was he already on drugs?

»Oswald?« He was not a big fan of being ignored. That was not new to him, of course. Being ignored by Oswald, however, the man he had shared such intimate thoughts and moments with and who had betrayed him on such a deep level, bugged him beyond belief. There was this voice in the back of his head urging him to hurt him, to grab his spork and jam it into his hand, perhaps. There was something about the way Oswald just stared at nothing, that made him pause, though. He looked completely lost. Was he even aware where he was? Yesterday, he hadn't had much time to fully grasp his appearance but now he had time to have a good look at him.

He was paler than ever before, he was thinner again as if he had lost a ton of weight in just the short time he was in here since he had faked his death. He was drowning in his uniform. There were bruises and cuts on his face in various states of healing but none of them looked too bad now. There was a bit of blood crusted under his nails and his hands were in a despicable state, to begin with, his cuticles raw and dry, his nails brittle and bitten. Looking at him closer, his hair looked thinner. He had always had quite the mop of hair on his head, full, fluffy and healthy. Now it looked oddly thin and weak as if he was losing it rapidly. Already his dirty blonde roots were showing. Usually, Oswald took great care of his hair.

»Oswald!« He tried again and this time, he actually extended his hand to give him a small push against his shoulder.

As if hit by a lightning bolt, Oswald suddenly sprung to life. »No more, no more!« He screeched as he jumped from his seat and staggered back, which only caused him to lose his footing and fall on his ass rather clumsily. He was only wearing one shoe on his left foot and a sock with holes in it on his right foot. Weird. Usually, the Arkham staff at least took care that their patients were appropriately dressed. Already, he could see the nurses and guards perk up at the commotion and before someone would run inside and punish him again, Edward actually jumped up and hurried over to Oswald to crouch down next to him and pressed his hand down on his mouth so that he would at least stop making so much noise.

»Pssst!« He hissed and quickly looked around the mess hall. Most other patients didn't even care for them. Screeching patients were the norm, after all. Some looked their way but returned to minding their own business or their conversations with their imaginary friends. Not that he had any grounds to judge those poor souls. »Calm down, Oswald! It's just me!« Whatever that was supposed to mean after he had tried to choke him last time he had seen him only a few hours ago. If anything, naturally, his sudden closeness to Oswald only scared him more.

His eyes were blown almost comically wide, almost bulging out of his head, the blue of his irises almost completely overtaken by the black of his pupils. He had never seen him this frightened ever before. He felt him trembling like the leaves on a tree under his touch and his hot moist breath against the hand clasped over his mouth. His breathing came rapid and flat. He was hyperventilating and Edward needed to do something - anything! - to calm him down before he would get punished again for causing distress to Oswald like this. It was this thought that made Edward wrap his arms around Oswald and press him against his chest, encircling him as tightly as he could. For other people, this might have only made everything worse - but he knew Oswald. He had helped him through horrible nightmares before. He knew what worked on him and what wouldn't.

»Calm down.« He hummed into his left ear as he started rubbing circles into his back. »Calm down. I won’t hurt you again.«

_»Won’t you?«_

He didn't quite know what did the trick in the end, but he could feel him calm down and pulled away right to prevent things from getting even more awkward than they already were between them. At the same time, he was almost shocked by how easy it had been for him to actually hug Oswald like this. After everything that had happened with Isabella and Oswald’s betrayal, after he had first learned that Oswald was in love with him, he had been certain that he would never be able to touch this man again without feeling disgust.

Here he was now, helping Oswald to calm down so that he would stop freaking out on him like that. Maybe that was just self-preservation, though. After he rose to his feet, he quickly held out his hand to help Oswald back to his feet just as he saw how one of the nurses was approaching already. Oswald too was quick to notice that and hastily grabbed Edward’s hand to get back to his feet so that they both could sit down at their table again as if nothing had happened. It was an unspoken agreement that they would act as natural as possible and the nurse walked back to his previous position near the door.

»What are you doing here?« Oswald hissed. There was not much left of the frightened young man from before as if a switch had been flipped inside Oswald’s head. Yet, the appearance was deceiving at best. He could still see the haunted expression in his blue eyes and how they darted from Edward over the other patients closer to them and back to Edward, suddenly a lot more nervous than before Ed had arrived.

»I could ask you the same thing!« Ed replied and leaned forward a little so that he could keep his voice low and Oswald would still be able to understand him over the noise. »You are supposed to be dead!«

The way his former friend looked at him then was almost enough to pull the rug from under him.

※※※※※※※

His head was filled with wool. No … cotton balls, perhaps. The noise around him barely registered with him anymore these days. For how long was he in Arkham now? Days? Weeks? Years? Days seemed to have started to blend together a long time ago with the ever same routine of therapy sessions and scheduled eating times that he was subjected to. Of course, the drugs - the medication - only helped to create an indistinguishable mess out of his time in the asylum.

The sudden arrival of Edward Nygma was the only thing that managed to disrupt his routine and he was not proud to say that being choked by him had caused him to spend the night drugged out of his mind so that he could calm down at all. Apparently, he had been hysteric after Edward had been dragged away.  In fact, he had no idea how he came into the mess hall in the first place - let alone how he ended up at this table with a tray of foot in front of him. And again, he had to thank Ed Nygma for disrupting his routine.

And yes, the very small sober part of his mind was at least a tiny bit embarrassed about his panicked outburst. His words, however, only served to further his confusion.

»What do you mean?« He asked as he looked at his former best friend who posed as the demon in his worst nightmares for quite some time now. He still remembered the vision he had of Edward caused by the fear toxin a little while ago and though Edward was now sitting across from him, he could still see that nightmarish image in front of him with those awful sharp teeth and those bulging eyes. His throat was still sore where Edward had choked him and a part of him wondered how far he would have gone with it had he not been stopped by the guards rushing in to help him. »I’m not dead … Am I? Why would I be dead?«

There was something that could only be called pity in Edward’s eyes as he looked at him now and though he would have wanted to scratch out his eyes for that look normally, now it only added to his confusion.

»Because the entire city thinks you are dead!« Ed replied sharper but kept his voice down as if he was afraid that anyone would hear his crazed ramblings. And crazy he was, right? Why would the whole city think that he was dead?

»What?«

»There was a funeral! It was all over the news and the newspapers! I- The people mourned you! Jim Gordon shot you!«

»No … No, he didn't … Did he?«

»There was a press conference!«

»But I’m not dead … am I?«

All these things Edward told him didn't make any sense to him. How could he be dead but sitting here across from him at this table in Arkham? Unless Edward wasn't really here. Unless Edward was only a figment of his overactive imagination. But would he be able to touch him then? He didn't have much experience in this department.

»As it appears no and that's why I would really like to know what is going on here!«

»I don't … I'm not sure … I don't understand…«

»What do you mean you don't understand? You must know how you got here! The last thing I heard was that you killed some urchin and was then shot by Gordon as you resisted arrest!«

»But … No … No, that's not true … I … Was not shot … I came here because I … I … Someone found me … I killed Martin and I … That's why I’m here. I just couldn't deal with it … The betrayals and all the bloodshed.«

»And does that sound even a little like you? Like the Oswald Cobblepot that cooked his step-siblings and fed them to his stepmother?«

»Oh, but that was bad of me … So bad.« He mumbled out of reflex. Even thinking about all the bad deeds he had committed in the past years caused him nausea and headaches. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to talk about it. He felt dizzy even looking at Edward and thinking about all the horrible things he had done to his former best friend - the man he had once loved. No, the man he still loved whether he liked to admit it or not.

Last time he had seen Edward, the man had just escaped his icy prison and came back to kill him. Suddenly, he felt like he needed to flee the situation. He couldn't possibly stay close to this man. And yet there was this voice in the back of his mind telling him that he had no reason to avoid him and that he was a much smarter man than Edward anyway. There was no reason to fear him! He could crush him!

Yet, as he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat not too far away from him, he was actually relieved to see Jerome Valeska approaching their table. »Is this man harassing you, Little Bird?«

»N-No! No … He is just an old friend!« The smile he granted Jerome felt forced even to himself. Jerome was his protector, of course, but he was uneasy in his presence. He should not feel this way. There was no reason to feel this way. Jerome was protecting him. He was his friend.

»You are running late for your therapy session.« Jerome’s voice was like velvet and his grin that of a shark. Something about that made him nod quickly and raise from his seat again. His hands were shaking as he picked up his tray. He had not even touched his food. In fact, he couldn't quite remember when he had last eaten. He was just never hungry it seemed. A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that this wasn’t good.

»See you later, Ed.« He addressed his former friend again but didn't wait for a response before he followed Jerome first to get rid of his tray and then to leave the mess hall just as Jerome put an arm around his shoulders.

»You have to be more careful, Ozzie-baby.« Jerome hummed as he escorted him down the hallway without anyone batting a lash at the sight of the strange duo. »Especially with this dude.«

»Ed?« He smiled. »Oh … Ed is harmless. He is just an old friend.«

»Is he now? Wasn't he the dude who ruined your mayorship and tried to kill you a year ago?«

»That … That's in the past. I had his girlfriend killed … His anger was justified and he paid for shooting me. We are even now.«

»That's what you think.« Jerome smirked. »I know guys like this - he just waits for the right opportunity to slit your throat, Darling. Did you know that he admitted himself? He probably knew that you were here and thought you would be an easy target in here. After all, patients die all the time in Arkham Asylum, right? It would be better if you wouldn't leave my side from now on.«

※※※※※※※

Seeing Oswald Cobblepot leave with Jerome Valeska was weird enough already as it was but witnessing how the much younger inmate put an arm around Oswald’s shoulders and furthermore seeing that Oswald was not resisting this in any way was even weirder. The old Oswald would have cut Jerome’s arm right off for something like this. Oswald was known to have very little patience for people he deemed inferior to him - and Jerome Valeska, that cackling lunatic with the messed up face, certainly fit that description nicely. Yet, Oswald went with him as if under some sort of spell.

_»Oh boy! Our old pal is high as a bird - pun very much intended! This is gonna be so much fun!«_

»Shut up!« He hissed over his shoulder but was quick to finally start digging into his food. He was starving - yet the asylum food didn't make it exactly easy to feel any hint of appetite. »It's not funny.«

_»Isn't it?«_

»No, it's a puzzle.«

_»Oh, come on.«_

»And I am going to solve this. I mean … have you seen him? Drugs, yes. But this? No. There is something else going on and we still don't know why and how he faked his death. Do you think Jim knows he is here? Do you think Jim is in on this?«

 _»Wouldn't put it past that sly bastard.«_ He felt invigorated by the mystery that was Oswald’s death and resurrection. Yet, he grew aware of the looks some other patients and one of the nurses shot him. Of course, he was talking to himself - that usually caused raised eyebrows. So, he lowered his head and began shoveling his food into his mouth. The scrambled eggs tasted like cardboard and the bacon like weeks old chewing gum but Edward didn't waste a thought about it. He quickly ate up and delivered his tray back to the counter and just as he wanted to stroll down the hallway in search of Oswald, perhaps, Dr. Whitman, the same doctor who had last talked to him and to whom he was assigned, stepped out of a door to his left.

»Oh, Edward!« He sounded much too chipper and cheerful in such a place. »Good, I see you are right on time for our first meeting!« Well, wasn't he a lucky guy? He forced a smile and adjusted his glasses quickly.

»My mother taught me being late is rude.« He replied and tried his best to sound just as chipper as his doctor. It was true that, before today, his mood had been quite bad and that he hadn't cared much what might happen to him in here, but now he had a puzzle to solve and as long as he would behave like a model patient again, maybe he would actually get the chance to solve it.

For now, however, he followed Dr. Whitman into his office. Needless to say, he hadn't even been aware that it was time for his first therapy session. Not that there would be anything the doctor could do for him anyway. He didn't wish to be cured. He didn't even know what he would be cured of, to begin with. Then again, his hallucination or the ever constant presence of the Riddler in the corner of his eye was probably not very healthy. And shouldn't he want to be cured of that? The fact that Oswald was alive, should not change anything about that. He was sick and as long as the Riddler would exist, Lee would never be safe and he would never find peace. Maybe peace wasn't even an option for him.

»You admitted yourself to Arkham.« Dr. Whitman stated the obvious as he sat down behind his heavy wooden desk and gestured for Edward to take a seat across from him on a comfortable looking green armchair. The doctor’s desk was riddled with all kinds of things from pens and notebooks to empty coffee mugs and photographies that Edward couldn't see because they were turned towards the doctor. He had never liked or trusted people with messy work desks. Maybe that was only the forensics guy inside of him. Yet, he was of the opinion that the state of one’s workplace said quite a lot about the state of one’s mind or character.

»I did.«

»You do realize that this is quite unusual.« He hummed and already gently drummed the end of his pen against his open notebook. »I would like to explore the reasons for why you think you should be here.«

»Haven't you read my file?«

»I want to hear it from you.« He smiled encouragingly. »Your old file from Professor Strange stated that you suffered from auditory and visual hallucinations, from some sort of alter ego you kept seeing and that you blamed him for the murder of your girlfriend Miss Kringle as well as the other murders you committed. Of course, since then you were released from Arkham, briefly worked as the chief of staff under Mayor Cobblepot until you proclaimed to the city that you were a villain and a murderer and took on the persona of...« He glanced down at his notes. » _The Riddler_.«

»That is, in essence, what happened, yes.«

»So I think it's safe to assume that, after you were prognosed sane a year ago, you relapsed quite drastically.«

»I think that's safe to say, yes.«

»Is that why you here now? Did the voices come back? Edward, you must realize what an extraordinary thing that is for a man of your caliber to actually seek help for his problems. And I do believe that, if you decide to open yourself up to therapy and work with me, we can get your problems under control - and this time for good. No more hallucinations, no more voices that are urging you to do things you don't want to do.«

It sounded good. He had to agree that it sounded good. Dr. Whitman was right, after all, wasn't he? He wanted help. He wanted to get better. He wanted to return to the Edward Nygma he once was, the Edward Nygma who had worked for the GCPD. Lee was his friend but he wasn't naive. He knew that she wouldn't want to be the friends with the Riddler. No, she had liked the old Edward he had been when they first met. And she liked him now - not yet that same man again but on the way to become that man at least. Maybe he could become that man again and maybe they could become more than friends.

_»But you don't want that, do you? You don't really want her. You want him. We both know that you want him.«_

»I would really like to get rid of that voice, yes.« Edward mumbled more in answer of that nagging voice than Dr. Whitman’s words.

»And what finally motivated you to make that step?«

»I believe I came to the conclusion when I put a noose around my neck and was about to kill myself.«

»You attempted suicide?« Dr. Whitman perked up at that.

»He … _The Riddler_ , my alter ego, actually stopped me from doing it. He … He has a much greater instinct of self-preservation and well, if I die, he dies, right?« He remembered that day too vividly and the memory hurt. He had never thought he would come to the point when he would want to kill himself but he had wanted to do just that and he had meant it.

»Tell me what brought you to that point.«

»It began with my friend Lee Thompkins.«

An hour had flown by without him even realizing it before he stepped out of the office again. He felt drained and oddly exhausted just from talking. Despite Oswald, he had never talked to someone so openly about what he thought or had experienced. Needless to say, the good doctor was now the only one who knew about his suicide attempt. He would not have thought that he would actually talk about that today - or any day for that matter. Yet, he could not deny that he actually felt better. Weird.

_»Don't tell me you actually believe in that shrink-crap now! Are you actually going to play along and tell him all our deepest darkest secrets?«_

»I just want to get better.«

 _»Yes! I agree! You should get better! And for that, you should just accept that we had much more fun when we were me!«_ He bit back a comment as he heard the noise coming from one of the therapy rooms a bit further down the hallway. There was music playing and Edward felt drawn to it for some reason. An upbeat little song that he heard before - in another life, perhaps. _»I love this song! The name game, right? Bo-ber-ley, bo-na-na fanna, Fo-fer-ley. fee fi mo-mer-ley, Shirley!«_

He remembered the room the music came from. He had spent hours in this room during his first stay in Arkham and suffered through group therapy with all those other lunatics. Large windows allowed a look inside the room. As per usual, the chairs inside the room were set up in a circle, the only addition was the gramophone in one corner of the room playing music. To his biggest surprise, the patients inside the room were actually dancing and, an even bigger surprise was only that Oswald was one of them, shimmying away as much as his limp allowed him to.

_»Well, that is something else.«_

 

**-End of Chapter 5-**


	6. Chapter 6

It felt like walking to his own execution as he walked through the rainy streets of Gotham. The grey clouds were seemingly so ever-present that, like a true Gothamite, Jim hardly noticed them anymore. Seeing the sun would come as a much bigger shock to most people in this ancient city. Most people around him were in a hurry as thunder roared across the sky, their shoes splashing heavily as they ran through puddles to get home before the thunderstorm would hit. On the news, they had claimed it would be one of the worst storms in recent history, warning all Gothamites to stay inside if possible. Jim Gordon, however, was in no hurry at all. In fact, he dreaded his arrival at his destination and yet, he did not pause as he entered the bar as he had a few weeks ago.

On this afternoon, the bar was almost empty, except for the owner and one of the usual drunks sitting in a dimly lit corner, both unconcerned by the apocalyptic weather outside - unlike Harvey’s other customers, as Jim could only assume. Harvey Bullock would gladly go down with his ship.

»Wouldn't have expected to see you here again.«

Harvey was still hostile towards him and he couldn't really blame him either. He probably deserved it. Instead of saying something, Jim just walked over to the counter, sat down on a barstool and pulled Harvey’s badge and gun out of his coat to place them on the counter between them. For a moment, there was silence between them. harvey even stopped polishing the beer glass in his hand that he had used to occupy himself with. The silence was not exactly awkward but it was certainly heavy. There was a certain sense of electricity in the air - like the air before a storm. How fittingly.

As he finally broke the quiet between them over the low rumbling of the thunder outside, it took him a lot more effort to actually force the words out of his throat. Yet, at the end of the day, he knew that he had fucked up and he knew that there was only one person who would be able to actually clean up his mess.

»I need you, Brother.«

Harvey’s deep, strained sigh came as expected and the Irish grouch finally set down the polished beer glass and flung the dish towel over his shoulder. »See? And that's the problem … you only come when you need something from me.«

And he was right. Yet again, Harvey was right.

»Harvey … There is something I need to tell you.« He began quietly and threw a small glance over his shoulder at the drunkard in the corner but he seemed too fixated on a conversation he had with himself to actually even notice them. He doubted that the man had noticed how he had entered the bar in the first place.

»I can never make up for the things I’ve done, Harvey and I am sorry.« It wasn’t enough. He didn't need to see Harvey’s skeptical raised eyebrows to realize that. Sure, it wasn’t him who had made Harvey commit the mistakes that had ultimately brought them here. It was Harvey who had shot one of their colleagues because he hadn't listened to his partner. But all of this would have never happened in the first place if Jim would not have gone to Falcone. He might as well have fired the shot himself.

»Jim … If you really think that's all it takes for me to run back into your arms and forget about everything-«

»Oswald is still alive.«

※※※※※※※

They had warned them about the storm earlier in the day. In a place like this, the nurses and guards and doctors were too mindful of the hysteric tendencies of their patients as to not to warn them about a storm like this. Complete freak-outs and meltdowns had been bound to happen no matter what. Even he felt anxious as the storm finally came and hit Arkham as if it was a giant lightning rod. He could feel the electricity crinkle in the air. Crinkle? What a funny word. However, he knew that the worst things always happened in nights like this and that he needed to be prepared for that.

The storm hit after dinner and sent the patients in their cells into complete uproar while Oswald tried to stay as calm as possible. He laid in his creaky little bed with his arms wrapped around his head to drown out the noise around him. It seemed irrational to him that he felt this afraid of the storm and yet his actions were those of a child that couldn't find its mother to look for protection and comfort. In nights like these, he would have crawled into her bed, snuggled close and listen to her humming him back to sleep.

His mother was dead, though, and there was no one out there who would protect him ever again like this. Briefly, he thought about Martin. He had never gotten the chance to be a good parent to the boy. He had never gotten the chance to calm him down during such a storm. Just as he had failed to protect his mother, he had failed to protect his boy.

Rain was drumming harshly against the small window of his cell and every time the thunder roared he flinched and fought the urge to hide under the bed. It was childish and dumb and weak. It was pathetic! His entire existence here inside of the asylum seemed to be pathetic. These days it was hard for him to grasp what was real or not. At least he had a friend in Jerome. And yet, Jerome wasn't here with him right now and he could only feel the panic rise in his chest with every lightning bolt that shot across the skies outside of his little barred-up window. He could feel the electricity throbbing through his entire body. Something would happen tonight. Something bad.

He thought about Edward. His cell was only a few doors down the corridor. Soon, he would tower over Oswald's bed, staring at him out of fiery burning eyes like a demon and grinning at him with a row of razor-sharp shark-like teeth. And then he would cut his throat and press his face into his pillow to suffocate him while his blood would soak the mattress and drip to the floor.

He would die in this room. He would bleed out all over this bed. And then, suddenly the light in the hallway went out. Just a second later, as the screams of the insane around him reached a sickening crescendo, there was, like the midnight bell at the turn of the century, the sharp mechanical buzz of all the door unlocking at once.

※※※※※※※

When chaos broke out, Ed was shaken awake quite violently. In fact, it was another inmate who actually pulled him out of his bed and slammed him to the ground at once. Edward was by far not a fighter and not skilled in the slightest in hand-to-hand combat but still, he easily managed to dislodge his attacker as he tried to choke him. He was taller than most other patients and using his long legs to his advantage came easily enough. So, in a matter of seconds, he had brought his knees up to his chest and thus between his body and his attackers only to plant his feet firmly against his chest and pry him off of him before jumping to his feet in one swift motion. For a moment, he just wanted to throw the other guy out of his cell and barricade himself in his room but outside of his cell, the screams were deafening. The lunatics were having a field day after all the doors had, apparently, unlocked. Killing, raping, torturing, stealing, perhaps escaping. He probably could escape, right?

In a night like this, it would be easy to escape for a man as brilliant as him. He had almost escaped once before during his first stay in Arkham, after all. He could do it again. Easy.

And yet, he paused at this thought after he had landed a sharp kick to the other patients head to knock him unconscious. Did he really want to escape? He had admitted himself freely, after all. And he had come to this asylum for a reason. He couldn't just escape now and forget all about that exact reason just because escaping tonight would be convenient. No, if he would escape he wanted it to be a whole lot more of a spectacle. Explosions and gunshots, perhaps. The entire city should know about it then and fear the return of the Riddler. He would not be one of many lunatics who happened to escape in a stormy night like this. Plus the armed guards were probably expecting it and would shoot him on sight.

Ed grabbed a fistful of the dark hair of his attacker and dragged him to the door of his room to push him into the hallway and then close his door to barricade himself in as planned. However, just as he was about to do that, another scream managed to gain his attention.

»No! Leave me alone!« He knew that high-pitched frantic voice by heart. All too often he had heard it in his dreams, after all. The hallway was dark with the exception of the red emergency lights that were tinting everything in this eerie red gloom that came straight out of a horror movie. Still, he could make out the limping person who got dragged down the corridor towards the showers. The small man was screaming bloody murder, shrieking at the top of his lungs as he was dragged away and though Edward felt that he was supposed to feel excited and maybe join in on the fun, he instead was frozen to his spot in the doorframe.

He shouldn't care about what was happening to Oswald. He should just go through with his plan and hide out in his room until the staff would have gotten everything under control again. And yet he couldn't move a muscle. He could only stare as his former best friend was being dragged away by a mob of lunatics. There was no way Oswald would survive this night if no one would help him. Where even was Jerome? Heck, he probably should be glad that he didn’t see that clown and yet, the fact that he was not here was deeply unsettling.

It was not worry or fear for his former best friend what spurred Edward into action in the end. It was knowing that he would never learn the truth about the circumstances that led Oswald to end up here, would he let this happen to him. The riddle would never be solved, the itch never be scratched. He followed the group that was dragging Oswald away carefully, moving closer to the wall in hopes he wouldn't be detected like this. Most people around him were too busy with their own shenanigans anyway. He still kept to the shadows - just to be safe - trying to blend into the darkness around him as best as he possibly could.

Walking down the corridor was like walking through a nightmare. It was like rowing down the river Styx, around him the vilest creatures hell had to throw at him. Edward was not known to have a weak stomach or constitution. He did not care much for the carnage or slaughter around him. He would not spring into action to save those too weak to defend themselves. Sometimes he mourned the young starry-eyed forensic-scientist who once jumped in front of a bullet to safe Kristen Kringle.

This Edward Nygma would have helped the shrieking woman in that cell to his left. Sadly, for that lady, that Ed Nygma had died a long time ago. The Edward Nygma he was now, only tried to get to his destination safely and almost failed as he slipped on a puddle of blood and fell, ruining his striped jumpsuit in the process. With a disgusted little groan, he got back to his feet to keep up his mission. _Better not think about whose blood that is._

In the gloomy red light, everything looked monstrous to the point where even Edward felt anxious and almost unable to take even one step forward at times. Around him, the cries and screams of the insane only grew in volume and so did the screeching of the man he was following. »Stop it! Let go!« It was pathetic, of course. However, Oswald wouldn't be Oswald would he just give up fighting and be quiet, right?

Edward quickened his steps as the group disappeared behind a corner but kept being mindful of the sounds he made. He wasn’t wearing shoes after he had been dragged out of his bed by this other patients. Otherwise, his shoes would be equally blood-soaked now and probably make squelching little noises that would, undoubtedly, betray his presence. Of course, the thought that he would probably not be very efficient against a group of lunatics without a weapon crossed his mind the closer he got to the root of the disturbing noises coming from the showers. He needed a weapon. Quickly. As luck had it, he soon stumbled over the remains of a metal bed frame. It was his luck that the other patients were already ripping their rooms apart and really everything they could get their hands on.

Ed made quick work of ripping the bed frame further apart until he got one of the rods loose enough to rip from the broken frame to use as a club. Only then, at least somewhat armed, he walked up to the showers at last. The group he found was smaller than he had thought at first. Only four other guys that were surrounding Oswald, assaulting the much smaller man with a barrage of kicks as he was already down and trying helplessly to shield his head from the attacks.

They were out to kill him, that much was certain.

 _»Well, now would be your chance to just let him die and get rid of him once and for all, right?«_ The Riddler snickered as he walked up to the group in the shower and glanced down at Oswald. _»But of course … You would want to kill him yourself, right?«_

It was true. If anyone had the right to kill Oswald Cobblepot, it would be him. After all, Oswald had taken so much from him. Taking his life only seemed fair to Edward now. And yet he carefully stepped closer. The group of lunatics didn't even seem to hear him over the screams and their own laughter and cheers. That made it a lot easier for Edward to strike the first blow to the back of the head to the man closest to the door. He would not argue that this might have been the stupidest decision in his life.

The moment the metal rod connected loudly and violently with the skull of one of the attackers, Ed knew that he would now have to face the wrath of the other three.

He had hit the first one so hard that he knocked him right out and as his body heavily slumped to the ground, his friends stopped their assault on Oswald to turn around and face Edward, their eyes almost comically wide as they stared at the new arrival in the semi-darkness of the emergency lights.

»What the fuck, man?« One of them hissed but another one already moved to grab Edward.

»Oh, that was a mistake you made!«

_»It was at this moment, that he knew, he had fucked up.«_

»Would you just shut up already?« Edward shouted at the man in the green suit who had the audacity to mock him even though Edward’s end would be his end as well. The Riddler leaned with his back against the tiled wall in the far corner of the room, a grin plastered on his face, only a witness to the spectacle as if he wasn't bothered by the prospect that Edward would soon get his ass kicked. Yet, him shouting at an invisible presence was what led the man moving towards him to pause and another one to take a startled step backward.

 _»Now you got it, Eddie-boy.«_ The Riddler hummed as he walked over to him. _»You are in an insane asylum, Ed.«_ He whispered into his ear as he was close enough. Would he be a real person, Ed would now be able to feel his hot breath ghosting over his skin. _»Act the part. Show him who the biggest freak in the playground_ really _is.«_

And just like that, it clicked in him. Yes, those three guys were stronger than him and would overpower him easily but only if they wouldn't be scared to death by him. He grabbed his head and would he be wearing his glasses, he would have ripped them off cleanly as he dug his fingers into his hair for a moment, groaning like a wild, hurt animal.

»What the-«

»Go!« He yelled and swung his weapon at the group wildly. »Go! If you don't go- He’s saying I should kill you! I don't want to kill you but he will make me!« Still, the three other men seemed uncertain but as he let out another howl the first of them, the one who had staggered back at first dashed past him screaming.

»Calm down, Dude or I bash your fucking head in!« The leader of the group yelled but his voice was wavering and Ed knew that he was at least as freaked out as his friend. Well, he had always had a thing for theatrics and Oswald had been a great mentor in this regard. Well, the fact that he was covered in blood probably helped too.

»No! No, no no, no, no! I won’t do that!« Ed yelled yet again and pointed one shaky finger at the far corner of the room. »I won't do that! That's sick! I won’t- Yes … Yes. Of course, you are right - of course!« Again, he drove a hand through his hair, clawed at his scalp and swung his rod as if he would just be gesticulating with his hands to that invisible person. »You are right … They deserve it, don’t they? Look what they did to poor Oswald … You are right, I’ll rip their heads off … I’ll eat their flesh … I-I do it!«

It surprised him just a little that the second guy set off after those words and, as he lunged at the third, the leader of the group, he too took off with a scream. Suddenly, though happy that his plan had succeeded, he found himself alone with Oswald Cobblepot, cowering on the floor, beaten down, hurt, trembling and terrified out of his mind. Oh, it would be so easy to kill him now. Those thugs had already done so much of the groundwork. He would only need a few more kicks, perhaps, or … He could gently wrap his hands around his thin white neck and squeeze the rest of his pathetic little life out of him and end his misery once and for all. Spare him, perhaps, the humiliation of facing the world again as soon as the sun would come up again. Really, killing Oswald would be an act of mercy at this point, wouldn't it? Surely, everyone would see it like that. Edward Nygma, however, had never been a very merciful kind of guy.

»They are gone.« He muttered quietly as he slowly shuffled further into the room and let his weapon fall to the ground where it landed with a sharp clattering sound that only seemed to spook Oswald even more. He actually had to step over the guy he had attacked first to get to Oswald and as he did, Edward was unable to fight the urge to kick the unconscious man once. »Hey, Oswald … It's me. You’re safe now.« That was, of course, a blatant lie, but it seemed to do the trick after Ed crouched down beside him and immediately found himself with his arms full of a very confused, very scared mobster.

»Ed!« Oswald shrieked as he clung to him as if his life would depend on it. »Ed! Ed! Ed!« His name suddenly seemed the only word in Oswald’s vocabulary, the only thing he was able to say. For some reason, Ed quite liked the idea. He blamed his hunger for attention for this.

»It's okay.« Edward mumbled as Oswald pressed his face into his chest. He remembered a time when something similar to this happened. He remembered _coming home_ to the mansion. He remembered walking through the archway that connected the reception hall with the front parlor where Oswald and he liked to have their afternoon tea together. He remembered a flash of black and then Oswald being right in his face, hugging him almost violently, almost as if he had thought that something bad had happened to him. It seemed almost a lifetime ago that all of this happened.

He had been a different man back then. Not yet the Riddler and not still Ed Nygma. He had been somewhere in between good and evil, being pulled to both sides at his arms by Isabella and Oswald at the same time. The weak part of his mind had wanted this second chance of normalcy, running away with Isabella and start a new life somewhere far away from Gotham. In the end, however, he was his father’s son and as such he had always been drawn to the darkness. He could have just left after he had found out the truth about Isabella. He could have gone to James Gordon, provided him with the evidence he had against Oswald and left - start over somewhere else on a clean slate. He had done it once before when Eddie Nashton became Edward Nygma.

»They are gone now.« Edward continued quietly - perhaps even quieter than before as if he was afraid someone might hear them and prove him wrong. Fate seemed to work like this. And yet, no one barged into the showers as he held Oswald close to his chest or as he started rubbing soothing circles into his back. Now that he was holding him he only realized just how thin he became. He could feel the bumps of his spine under his fingers even without pressing into his back in the slightest. He was sure that, would Oswald take off the hideous Arkham uniform, he would be able to count every single one of his ribs and every little bump of his spine with ease.

 _»Why do you care?«_ There was this mocking voice again.

 _I don't care,_ he thought, biting the inside of his cheek to not say the words out loud. Of course, he didn't care. And why would he? He had no reason to care. The only reason why he might care was that he needed Oswald alive and more or less well to finally get to the bottom of this riddle. He needed to know what was going on here. Why was Oswald alive? Why was he here? Why was there a gravestone with his name on it next to his mother’s grave? Why had James Gordon attended his funeral? Why had James Gordon held a press conference about Oswald Cobblepot’s death? Why was Oswald so close to Jerome? Why was Oswald allowing this maniac to touch him and lead him around or tell him what to do? He needed to know. He just needed to know.

»Come on … We should find a place to hide until all of this is over. In here we are too unprotected. Anyone could stumble upon us in here…«

Out in the corridors and hallways of the asylum, anarchy ruled over these ancient halls and Edward was fully aware that it would only be a matter of time until other inmates would stumble upon them in the showers if they would make the mistake of staying even a second longer now. They couldn't risk it and so he pulled Oswald to his feet slowly. Oswald seemed hardly capable of walking for too long. His knees buckled under his weight with every small step he took as they left the showers. They didn't head back to the cells as Edward could hear screams come from their cell block that sounded a lot like a pig that was being roasted alive over an open fire. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if somebody had set fire to their cell and got caught in the flames. There was no method to this chaos, after all. It was just chaos for chaos’ sake.

Since the blackout had unlocked all the cell doors, Edward was pretty confident that the same held true for the security doors that would usually block their paths when they wanted to escape from their floor. He was right, of course, and thus was able to lead Oswald into the stairwell and down one floor. »Where are we going?« Oswald wheezed. Forcing him down a fleet of stairs suddenly didn't seem the best idea. He was resting his weight heavily onto Ed’s left side and even Ed himself was hardly capable of keeping his balance like this.

»Nurse’s station.« Edward mumbled.

»They will be there.« Oswald mumbled his first coherent string of thought, actually. »They will find us there.«

»No. This floor is under construction. There is nothing there of interest. Most patients will not leave their floor - unless they try to escape.« It turned out that his assumption had been right. The third floor was completely deserted. There was nothing there only the rustling of plastic canvas in the wind. The entire floor would get new windows, doors, flooring, and wallpaper. The windows and doors stared like black eyes into the night. It was freezing cold.

Only the security door to the nurse’s office was still there. Those, he knew, had all been renewed shortly before Arkham had been reopened a few years ago. Yet, the window through which medication would be handed to the patients was just one more gaping hole in the darkness around them. Without his glasses, it was even harder to tell the creeping shadows of the night from the black holes that were empty doorways or even windows as they slowly treaded the murky waters of an asylum plunged into absolute anarchy. The nurse’s office was close to the staircase and though they were in much less of a hurry now, Edward still dragged Oswald over to the door, opened it and ushered him inside. He was certain that it wouldn't be long now until other inmates would realize that they could actually escape through the stairwell.

He was still certain that they wouldn't come here and yet … better safe than sorry, right? He took a short look around at the empty office and found an old metal chair that had been left with a bucket of white paint on top of it. But that was hardly of any help. If there would be a regular handle on the door he would have jammed the chair under the handle to block it but that wouldn't work with a simple doorknob. Maybe it would be better this way too. If the guards would check the hallways and find this door seemingly locked they might get suspicious. The old metal filing cabinets had been shoved into the middle of the room and covered with plastic canvas and there was still the metal desk right underneath the empty window that led to the hallway. It was hard to imagine a nurse sitting just there and handing out medication to the patients of this unit in just a few weeks from now.

Oswald was already staggering towards the far corner of the room as Edward closed the door gingerly. Only then, Edward slowly walked over to where Oswald was huddled up in the corner right next to the other empty window hole to slump down next to him, ignoring the sharp cold wind that blew straight through the office from outside while thunder was still roaring overhead and lightning crashing into the roof of the asylum by the sounds of it.

»You saved me.« Oswald muttered after a while of absolute, blissful silence that was only interrupted by the sounds of the raging storm outside and the lunatics above them like the sound of waves crashing at the shore. »You saved me.« He repeated a lot quieter than before, his voice wavering around the edges. He seemed so lost and confused as Ed looked at him now - almost fragile even. Not even as he had nursed him back to health in his apartment, had he looked so fragile and weak than he did now at that moment.

»I guess I did, didn't I?« Ed huffed but before he could even begin to fully understand what was happening or calm down enough to untangle the mess that was his brain, suddenly, Oswald was on top of him, in his lap and his clever fingers already doing quick work with the button and zipper of his pants. He seemed to weigh nothing at all. »What are you doing?« He almost screeched in his surprise, his hands quickly taking hold of Oswald’s thin wrists to hold them in a bruising grasp before he was actually able to shove Oswald off of him and made him fall on his bony ass in the process.

The entire situation was too surreal for Edward to actually understand it. He felt like a kid who tried to understand the concept of death for the very first time when his goldfish Flipper had died - the only companion his parents had ever allowed him. Oh, how much had they regretted their decision after Ed’s breakdown when Flipper inevitably died. Oswald seemed to go through quite a similar emotional experience after he landed on his ass on the ground again and just stared at him wide-eyed and confused. He could still feel his weight on his lap, could still feel the heat radiating from his body and his cold fingers moving to open his pants like in a fever dream.

»What the hell was this?« Ed growled but didn't make any effort of actually getting distance between them - or more distance than he had already brought between them. Despite what Oswald had just done - or rather tried to do - he didn't think that he would do it again. The way he blinked oh so very slowly spoke more of a man who just woke from a dream. That didn't make it any better though. He looked even more lost and confused than Edward felt.

_Jesus Christ, what are they shooting him up with?_

»I-I’m sorry…« Oswald stammered. He was no stutterer. He was no one who stammered like this. The old Oswald would be screaming at him for having the audacity to throw him off and refuse his advances. He had expected him to snarl and throw a tantrum. This was … wrong. »I didn't mean to- I thought- I wanted to thank you!«

»Thank me? In doing what? Giving me a fucking handjob?«

»I-« He seemed embarrassed even though it wasn't easy to tell in the darkness around them. »I- I don't know- I just wanted to-« He could hear how his voice broke off as he tried to speak, how it wavered once again, hear the tears already threatening to spill.

Suddenly, Edward felt catapulted back to a day at the mansion, back to a starry-eyed Oswald who was clutching the lapels of his suit as if he couldn't believe his luck. _One cannot deny love!_ He had said after Edward so cruelly pried his confession out of him. And oh, how utterly heartbroken he had looked after he had realized that his feelings were not reciprocated. He would never forget that moment. He had seen Oswald’s heart crumble and break into a million tiny pieces right in front of him, the hope in his eyes replaced by a certain sadness that had never quite left his eyes since. Perhaps, the fear of being rejected had always been stronger in Oswald than it had ever been in Edward. And he had preyed on it. Had used his vulnerability.

»Calm down.« Ed finally sighed as he drove a hand through his hair. »Calm down. I’m not angry. Take a deep breath.«

 _»Your not?«_ The Riddler snickered. _»Did you enjoy it then? This little fantasy? Come on, don't lie to me. Tell me you enjoyed imagining just how he might have thanked you! Imagine how good it would feel to have the great Oswald Cobblepot, the big bad Penguin, on his knees in front of you with those lips stretched around your cock. Wouldn't this be satisfying?«_

Oswald took a deep breath trying to steady himself and let the air out a bit less shaken than before.

»Good.« Ed hummed. »Now tell me what that was about, Oswald.« And for once, he didn't even know if he wanted an answer to that question. Sometimes not hearing the answer to a question was better, he assumed. That was what people tended to say, after all. Not every riddle had to be solved.

»I just thought … It's what Jerome would have wanted me to do…«

»Jerome?« He asked confused before suddenly everything seemed to fall into place. Was this what was going on between the crazy clown and the little bird? Was Jerome protecting Oswald from the other patients and in turn keeping him under his thumb and getting sex from Oswald? It seemed too simple. Why would someone like Jerome Valeska waste his time on something as mundane as this?

 _»He is a man, isn't he?«_ The Riddler huffed with a roll of his eyes as he sat on the desk on the opposite side of the room. _»Or why do you fall for every woman you come across who smiles at you once? He is just a guy who is locked up in this place for at least a year now. He fucks what he can get and why wouldn't he want to fuck Oswald? Imagine how satisfying it must be to have the king of Gotham’s underworld do everything you tell him to do?«_ He laughed again, louder, deeper this time. _»Oh, that's wonderful! He’s the bitch of the killer clown! Imagine the press learning about that! He might as well blow his head off! He would never be able to get any sort of respect again from those he once led.«_

He felt his stomach recoil in disgust at the mere thought of what was going on. The Riddler seemed to think that this was all highly amusing but Edward knew that this wasn't quite the case. It wasn't as if this part of him was without emotion or compassion. And, fuck, despite everything, he felt compassion for Oswald. Yet, shouldn't he be just as delighted as the Riddler was that Oswald was being humiliated in such a way?

»That not okay.« He mumbled more to himself than he was actually addressing his former friend. »That's not right. He can't do this to you…«

»He protects me.« Oswald defended the clown quietly but adamantly. »He’s my best friend. He keeps me safe. I’m not much of a fighter. I … half the time I don't know what's going on around me. He makes sure that nothing happens to me.«

»Yeah, but then he forces you to have sex with him as payment for his protection.« Ed hissed. »That not much else than to levy protection money!«

Oh, who was he talking to? He was talking to a mobster! Oswald probably couldn't even see that there was anything wrong with that! Drugs or not!

»I don't … He doesn't _force_ me … I don't have a problem with it.« He sounded defiant now. He sounded a bit more like the old Oswald and yet his voice was still thin and uncertain. »I’m not a whore, Ed! And it's not like I wouldn't get anything out of this arrangement myself.«

 _»Is he saying that he enjoys fucking the clown?«_ The Riddler laughed _. »Oh no that's just too good! It took him getting thrown into Arkham again to get some!«_

»I didn't say that.« Edward mumbled and started massaging his temples to drown out that laughter that was grinding on his nerves so badly. »It's just- He’s using you.«

»I’m using him.«

Ed bit his tongue. Hadn't Oswald just told him that half the time he didn't even know what was going on around him? How could he consent to anything in the state of mind he was in even now? He seemed the soberest he had ever seen him since they met here in Arkham again and yet he was still not all there, still not himself. He was pumped full of drugs most of the time.

As there was commotion in the staircase next door, Edward quickly moved away from the window and pulled Oswald under the old metal desk that had been left behind with the chair and the steel filing cabinets. It was torture for someone as tall as Edward to huddle underneath a desk with Oswald and it only worked as he pulled Oswald close again despite what either one of them wanted in their current situation.

Still, for a moment, as long as the commotion continued, they kept their mouths shut. He could clearly make out the sounds of heavy boots running up the staircase and then in the hallway above them shots being fired. The armed guards had finally decided to open fire on those patients who resisted them. Wonderful. At least they seemed to be safe here. Minutes ticked by as they just listened to the noise from above and below them before finally the staircase door on their floor was opened with a shrill creak.

Instinctively, Edward pulled Oswald closer and even clasped one hand over Oswald’s mouth. The desk stood right beside the door but if they were lucky, they wouldn't find them under the desk. He heard two guards walking out on the hallway and only a few moments later the door to the office was opened. The beam of a flashlight hit the naked wall across from the door and darted quickly over the walls, the filing cabinets, the chair, and paint bucket before it lingered on the desk. For a moment, Ed was certain that they had been caught and would get shot on the spot.

»No one’s here!« Another guard called out from the hallway and made the one at their door turn around and walk away with him back into the staircase. They stayed silent for a bit longer while they listened to the staircase door fall shut and the footsteps of the two guards rush down another fleet of stairs. Only after at least five minutes had to have ticked by, Edward let out a sigh and took his hand from Oswald’s mouth.

»Tell me what happened.« Even to his own ears he sounded defeated. »Tell me why you are here in Arkham. Why does everyone think you are dead?«

»I don't know.« Oswald replied so quietly he could almost not hear it over the whistling of the sharp wind coming from the hole where the window used to be. »I-« He made a sound like he had never quite heard before. He sounded terribly confused and conflicted, a soft little moan pushing through his clenched teeth before he dug his fingers into his head. »I don't know … I should know … But that isn't true. I know it's not true. It doesn't make sense. Dr. Santoro said I was found in the streets. He said I was talking to myself. He said Sofia took over from me two weeks before I even got here. He said I had a breakdown after I killed- after Martin…«

»Who is Martin?« Edward asked. »Was this the boy you killed? It was all over the news. You blew him up in your car under the Crown Point Bridge.«

Apparently, he had said something wrong as Oswald let out a small sob and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. »I didn't mean to-« He sobbed out. »Victor was meant to get him into safety. He was meant to flee through a hole in the floor of the car! I didn't want him dead! I didn't mean to kill him!«

He found himself comforting Oswald, his nemesis again as he shed tears for that little boy. It was not often that Oswald was so distressed over the death of another person. Last time he had shown such deep emotion, such deep hurt was after his mother's death - and when he realized that Edward had betrayed him. He was almost glad that he could hardly see his face in this darkness. Yet, the image of his pained faced at the docks was still in the forefront of his mind. Most people thought that Oswald was an emotionless sociopath, that he did not feel a thing. Ed knew that the opposite was true. Oswald felt too much. He loved too hard. He cared too deeply. And that was usually what brought him to his knees again and again.

»I’m so sorry…« Oswald hiccuped as Ed rubbed soothing circles into his back. »I’m so sorry…«

»They said on the news that Gordon shot you.« Ed continued droning on, hoping that this might help Oswald to get his mind back in order again or prompt a real memory perhaps even. »They said, after the death of the boy, Jim and the GCPD cornered you in the Iceberg Lounge. You resisted arrest and started shooting and then Jim killed you. He even gave a press conference. You have a grave next to your mother’s! I mean … what the hell happened?«

»I don't know … This all doesn't make sense…«

At least that was something that they could agree upon as it seemed.

 

**-End of Chapter 6-**


	7. Chapter 7

He needed help. There really was not much sense in denying that any further now and never had this been clearer to Oswald than at this moment while Jerome was still pounding into him with gusto. Underneath their combined weight, his bed was creaking and whining. At least this time Jerome had actually closed the door. He was not much of a fan of an audience. Then again, to everyone outside of this cell, it would be quite clear what was going on inside this room. Jerome’s moans were deeply immoral and loud. He wasn’t holding back as his blunt nails dug into his hips and left crescent-shaped marks behind.

He needed someone to help him untangle the mess of wires and cables that seemed to be his mind these days. He needed someone to help him determine what was real or not. He needed Ed - he needed the Riddler. If anyone would be able to help him to work through all of this, it would be him.

»You seem distracted today.« Jerome purred into his ear from behind. They didn't have much time now before Oswald was expected to go to his next therapy session with Dr. Santoro - not that this would matter to Jerome. »I think you are spending a little too much time with Eddie these days … I am getting jealous.«

The moan that Jerome drew from his throat as he bit down hard on his neck, was somewhere between pain and pleasure. It was the bite, right above the collar of his uniform, what was sending Oswald over the edge at last. The bite would certainly leave a mark. Jerome always liked to mark what belonged to him.

He was a bit frustrated as Jerome came inside him not too long after that. At least he was using condoms - wherever he got them from. »You know I almost feel like you enjoy it when I am a bit jealous.« He laughed as he slapped his right cheek just hard enough to make it sting. »You little tease.«

With a groan, he allowed himself to slump onto his mattress as Jerome pulled out and redressed. The only times they would be naked and have full-blown skin on skin contact during sex was when they would fuck in the showers. All the other times, Jerome would merely pull out his cock and tell him to either get on his knees or pull his pants down. »There is something I don't understand.« Oswald sighed before he himself began tucking himself back into his uniform. »You appear to have everyone here under your thumb. The guards, the inmates-«

»What can I say? I am a very charismatic guy.« And not much of a post-coitus cuddler - not that Oswald would wish to cuddle with the clown. He had never been fond of clowns, to begin with.

And yet, not being able to snuggle up in the arms of a lover after sex or feel their presence beside him in his bed, felt oddly empty and hollow. He felt like a hollow little shell during the act and afterward even more so. Even Jim, back in the day, had mostly gotten up right after he was finished. Only rarely Jim had spent a few moments with Oswald after he had fucked him. No wonder, really. He had been nothing more than Jim Gordon’s dirty little secret. He had come to his club when his urges had overtaken him, had fucked him senseless and then left satisfied. No one ever seemed to care how he felt being left behind like this. Well, what did he expect?

He had always been nothing more than a toy for the people around him. A pet bird for Fish, a double agent for Falcone, an informant for Jim, a mentor for Edward. And everyone would always leave him behind, abandon him after they have gotten what they wanted from him.

»You could escape anytime. Why stay?«

»Why indeed.« Jerome mused with a low hum. By now, Oswald knew this man well enough to know that there was something deeper going on behind those eyes. Sometimes Oswald wondered how things would be if they were not here in Arkham and if Jerome would not be such a lunatic. He saw ambition in him and a clever mind. He was sharp as a razor blade and he was exceptionally good at manipulating people. He would have made a good mobster - a formidable foe, maybe. Perhaps even a friend. Perhaps something else entirely. Despite the state of his fate and those horrible scars he got going on, Jerome Valeska was not ugly. And he was right, he was a charismatic guy.

»You’re planning something.« Oswald concluded briskly as he sat up on his bed again quickly and finally pulled up his pants. He would probably be sore for the rest of the day.

»Righty, ol’ boy. Something spectacular. I am in this funny farm because I want to find the creme de la crazy. Which is why I need _you_.« Maybe his little laugh sounded crazy not just to himself but at the very least, Jerome joined in on his laugh pretty quickly as if they were sharing a joke only they understood. Then again … His sanity was slipping away from him with each day more and more. What was still left of his fragile mind was slowly seeping through the cracks between his fingers. »Ah, you get it. But when we’re done the world out there that’ll be the asylum. What do you say?«

»What are friends for?« He tried a smile at last. He knew that he didn't have much of a choice, right? Denying Jerome would be the stupidest thing he could ever do. Jerome was not really his ally but he was his protector in the way that as long as Oswald would play along, he would not send his goons after Oswald to beat him to death or take turns with him in the showers. He needed to survive this. He needed to find out what was going on here. He needed to know how and why he got here.

What Edward had told him … It didn't make any sense. Why would Jim Gordon shoot him and yet here he was? Was it true what he initially believed when he first set foot into Arkham? Had he planned all this and only faked his death? But why would he do something like this? He couldn't even think clearly long enough to try and begin to get to the bottom of this mess.

Every time he thought he came a little closer to the right answer, his brain would not let him get there quite. There was a wall of fog and he could just not pass through it. He needed someone to shine a light through the fog to help guide him. But could he trust Edward Nygma to do just that? what a question! Of course not. The only reason why he was still alive here, the only reason why Edward had not yet killed him was that he too wanted to know the truth about Oswald’s situation. As soon as he would know, nothing would stop him from squeezing the life out of him.

The Riddler.

He was just as much of a moron as Edward - which wasn't much of a surprise since the Riddler _was_ Edward - but he was a reasonable moron at the very least. He could strike a deal with him, perhaps. After all, Edward had saved him the other night. Maybe there was still hope.

He couldn't deny that, when Jerome would touch him, he thought about the way Edward had held him that night when the asylum around them had turned into a  living breathing nightmare. It was stupid and he cursed his heart for being so weak despite everything Ed had done to him. A little while later, Oswald was actually walking down a narrow corridor. Dr. Santoro was expecting him and he would do good in not letting him wait. He seemed nice enough - less creepy than Professor Strange back in the day and, at the very least, he wasn't trying to rewire his brain through electroshocks and the Crane formula. Now that he knew what Dr. Crane’s son Jonathan was capable of producing, he could only imagine what Strange would have done with Jonathan’s fear toxin. Yet, despite being understanding and patient, Dr. Santoro valued punctuality above everything.

Every time he would walk down the hall towards his office, though, Oswald would feel as he had back as a child when he would walk to school. He felt nauseous and the sensation only grew heavier in his stomach with every little step he took. In fact, on this day, it was especially bad. Maybe he had exhausted himself too much with Jerome before, maybe it was the fear of the drugs Dr. Santoro would perhaps prescribe him today or the fear of having him poke around his brain again. He didn't like the questions he was asked. He couldn't answer most of them.

Only as his knees suddenly gave out under his weight did Oswald realize that something was not right. This was not the usual anxiety before his therapy sessions. His body was giving out and he didn't know why. His vision was blurry and he was unable to focus on anything for a good few seconds before a face suddenly appeared right in front of him. There was noise - someone talking - but all he could hear was a constant beeping sound in his ears. Black spots at the field of his vision threatened to overtake him. »Ed?« He gasped and wondered just how he knew that it was Ed who knelt in front of him. He could hardly see the face of the other person, after all.

As he blinked the next time, he wasn't in the corridor anymore but lying on a bed and staring at a white ceiling with questionable grey and yellow stains. Probably water. Hopefully water. There was something missing. He could feel it. He was missing a part of the puzzle. How did he get here? And where was _here_? He forced his head to move to his left side. There were two other beds, unoccupied at the moment. He saw a lattice door and an armed guard in front of it on the other side. Without lifting his head too much, he could only assume that on the opposite side of the room he would find more beds and perhaps even other patients. This was, by all appearances, the infirmary - and there was a needle in his left arm.

»Next time, you should try eating.« A voice suddenly addressed him and it took him a lot of effort and strengths to actually move his head again to look at the person who had talked to him. It was yet another doctor, but one in white lab-coat with a clipboard.

»What?« He managed to groan. His voice was raspy and weak and didn't sound like his voice at all.

»You passed out.« The doctor said. He was a tall man with a haggard face and blonde hair. He looked like most of the staff that had to keep this place running: worn down by years of working with lunatics, grey, and tired. »Which is not much of a surprise. When was the last time you ate?«

»What do you mean?« He mumbled quietly. »I had breakfast earlier.« He very clearly remembered sitting down at the usual table near the window with his tray. He had had breakfast with Jerome this morning. He had made fun of someone.

»But you didn't eat it. In fact, the nurses remarked that you have not touched your food in quite some time now. I’m afraid you will have to spend a few more hours here and you will eat freely or we will force you. It's your choice.«

He was still missing a piece of the puzzle. He had been eating, hadn't he? Of course, he had been eating before. Why wouldn't he? Yet, as one of the nurses came over with a tray of food for him a little while later, he didn't even feel hungry. Still, the threat of having a tube forced down his throat to feed him was lingering in the air and that was why he finally picked up his spork to eat his lunch. Every bite was a fight against himself, though. He shouldn't be lying around like this and eating. He should be out there and work on remembering what his original plan had been. He had to have had a plan! He would never get into a situation like this without a plan! And yet, no matter how hard he was wrecking his brain, there was just nothing. Only radio silence.

※※※※※※※

»This is the stupidest plan I have ever heard, Jim.« Bullock’s voice was as gruff as ever as he set his glass back on the counter between them with a bit more force than strictly necessary. The bar was empty this late in the day. Soon Harvey would lock the door up and Scottie was already waiting for him at home. She wouldn't be too happy to hear that Harvey would be running late because none other than James Gordon had held him back at the pub. »And I’ve heard a lot of stupid plans coming out of your mouth, Pal!«

»It's the only way.« Jim urged. Before coming to Harvey’s bar, he hadn't been too certain if he should really drag him into this whole entire mess. Harvey knew now that Oswald was still alive. He had told him what had really happened that day at the Iceberg Lounge. Of course, his former partner had not been thrilled to hear this story. And maybe he was right with everything he said. Maybe this plan was the stupidest that Jim Gordon had ever had. Yet he owed it to Oswald to try at the very least. But for that … he needed Harvey by his side.

»One day, Jim, one day you will have to get your comeuppance for all the stupid shit you have done.« Harvey would one day be a good father. At least he had it down to waggle his finger at him with a disappointed stare.  And despite what he was saying, Jim already knew that he had won Harvey over yet again.

»I know, Harv.« He sighed. At least, he thought, his best friend was finally open to talk to him again. At least, he had agreed to stay a few minutes longer tonight before locking this place up to actually listen to him. He was probably still a little embarrassed about the whole drama with Professor Pyg and how all of that went down. »And I swear to you, when all of this is over and dealt with, I will take the consequences for my actions. But let me correct my mistakes first, help me to fix this. I owe it not only to you or this city but also to Oswald. Because of my bad decisions he had to fake his own death and go through with all of this.«

»I really don't know, Jim.« He shook his head. »This woman … She’s something else. I don’t even know if we are equipped to deal with her brand of mobster, Jim. She beat you, she beat Penguin, she even beat her own father.«

»She is dangerous, Harvey. Too dangerous to be allowed to continue like this.«

»That's what I told you about Penguin all those years ago, remember? Remember when I told you to put a bullet in his head and you didn't? Remember when he came back and caused an all-out mob war? And why? Because you wouldn't listen.« Harvey groaned. »I would say: let him stew in Arkham. It's where he should be anyway.«

»I know.« He sighed and emptied his drink. He needed to stop drinking as much. The alcohol would not help him correct his mistakes and it would not make a warm body appear in his bed by his side at night either. When he first came to Gotham, he had frowned over Harvey’s behavior and how he had taken to alcohol a bit too indulgently.

»And yet, despite everything that happened since then, I still don't regret that I didn't kill him back then. As much trouble as he was … He did good things for this city too and you cannot deny that. He was a great mayor before Edward ruined that for him and even his Pax Penguina - as much as I hated it - worked. You were right back then, Harvey. I should have just shut my mouth and let him go through with it. He would have either destroyed himself with it or not. Either way, crime went down as long as he had the reins because he actually cares for Gotham. Sofia only wants to destroy everything Oswald or her father have built up. She feels entitled to this city and that's even more dangerous than Oswald could have ever been.«

»And what do you expect me to do about all of this, Jim? What can a deadbeat ex-cop do?«

»Exactly what you are already doing.« Jim said and as he saw how Harvey pulled his bushy brows together in confusion he quickly added: »I want you to continue working your pub, to lay low but-«

»You want me to keep my eyes and ears peeled.« Harvey sighed. »You want me to get information for you. You want me to casually hit up my old mob contacts.«

»Exactly.« Jim grinned and he knew that he was treading very thin eyes with this full-tooth smile. Oswald once said that this grin of his looked like he was constipated. Maybe he shouldn't have said it during an intense make-out session. Now he always thought about Oswald’s body pressing against his own in need of friction and touch whenever he would recall those words.

»Information about what?«

»Don Falcone’s death.« Jim said but lowered his voice regardless of the relative safety of Harvey’s pub. »Penguin claimed that it wasn't him and I believe that. Zsasz wouldn't have gone against him if he wouldn't have thought Oswald had killed his old boss. When we can tell him who really was behind Falcone’s death, he might come around again.«

»And why would you want Zsasz to get back on Oswald’s side?« Harvey asked before he grabbed both their empty glasses and put them in the sink to his right. He would probably clean them tomorrow. It was a very clear statement, though, that Harvey thought Jim had had enough. »Isn’t arming a possibly very dangerous mobster with an undoubtedly very dangerous hitman the last thing we would want?«

»I would agree with you if the situation would be different. However, at the moment Oswald’s side is very much our side in this fight against Sophia. And Zsasz is probably the only one we could get a hold of who knows where Martin is.«

»That urchin? And why is he important now?«

»Because if we can find him and get him into safety, Sophia can't use him against Oswald any longer.«

※※※※※※※

The noise seemed even more unbearable on this day as he sat in the rec-room and tried to focus on the other patients as he had done last time he had been inside the asylum. He had decided that the easiest way of getting around this place would be getting into the heads of the other patients again. Last time, this had worked wonders. When he would know all the oddities of the people around him, he would have a much easier time manipulating them. That was, after all, what Jerome did too, right? Only Jerome was less discreet than he was. Jerome was manipulating them through fear and, yes, because he had charisma. There was no denying of that. Especially in a place like this. The fool is the king of the insane, after all.

As he was keeping his watch from one corner of the room with crossed arms and leaning against the wall like a hawk, he couldn't focus on the commotion around him, though. Thankfully, Jerome and his posse were somewhere else at the moment. Probably causing chaos in their respective therapy sessions. Jerome, however, seemed to enjoy quite a lot of benefits the normal patients could only dream of. He had never quite seen him go to any sort of therapy. Either because the doctors had already given up on him or because he had them all under his thumb. Both would be equally possible. And both would make Jerome equally more dangerous.

Since he had learned the truth of what was going on between Jerome and Oswald, he knew too that he needed a whole lot more careful around his former friend. Jerome certainly was not a man who liked to share his toys and he could not start thinking that this was what was going on between Ed and Oswald.

However, Jerome’s absence from the rec-room gave him time and freedom to do what he wanted to do. The problem was, that he just could not get his mind off of what he had witnessed earlier this very same day. His cell was only a few doors down the hall from Oswald’s and Edward just so happened to be a very curious and nosy person.

He couldn't deny that, as he had first heard the moans coming from the cell of his former friend when he went to pass the cell on his way to therapy, it had disgusted him. It wasn't so much the thought and the resulting images in his head, of two men fucking. He didn't have a problem with that. It wasn't even the image of Oswald Cobblepot fucking another guy that troubled him. There had been a time, long ago when he had nursed a broken bird back to health in his apartment when he had found him quite attractive.

No, the problem was the notion behind those sounds and that act.

Even though Oswald had sounded as if he would enjoy it, it was still wrong. Jerome was still using him. Jerome was still abusing the power that he had over everyone in this facility. Oswald was in no state of mind to consent to this. And even if he wouldn't be drugged out of his mind for the most part, if he would reject Jerome, there was no telling of the consequences he would be dealt. He had no other choice but to consent and thus it was no consent at all - at least not in Ed’s eyes. He felt sick just thinking about it.

 _»But we both know that you wouldn't have such problems with it if it would have been you fucking him stupid this morning, right?«_ The Riddler was currently very busy leaning uncomfortably close to another patient's ear as he was looking over that man’s shoulder and at the board game that he was playing against himself. Poor Sod. _»And we both know that you never stopped finding him attractive. He is pretty - maybe a little grimy at the moment, but still pretty in a very weird and creepy way.«_

He clenched his jaw so that he could resist answering. It wasn't worth it. He should keep his mouth shut. He could not be seen arguing with himself in here. Not to mention that it wouldn't be healthy to nurture this relationship he had going on with a figment of his mind. He was here to get better, after all. For now, his therapy was limited to talking with his assigned therapist, taking a bit of medication that seemed to have no effect at all on him, and the occasional art and group therapy. He didn't really want them to amp up the action against him.

 _»Odd way of thinking.«_ The Riddler hummed and looked over his shoulder. _»I mean, I thought you wanted to get me to go away. Wouldn't you want them to do, I don't know, actual therapy on you? So that you would get better and stop seeing me?«_

He was right, of course. And it was hard to ignore that fact. After all, he was only a figment of his overactive brain. He only said what Edward already knew to be true but didn't want to admit to himself. He had come here because he wanted help and because he wanted to return to the Edward Nygma he had once been so that he might have a chance with Lee when he would get out of this hellish place. He wanted another chance of love.

By now, he knew that this relationship with Isabella had been doomed from the start - but Lee … He could have something real, something good with Lee. He would help her get the Narrows back in order, help her to build the Narrows up again and then just leave to have a normal, happy life with her. Everything would be forgiven and forgotten. And yet, since he got here and since he knew that Oswald was alive, he seemed to be forgetting about his initial reason for coming here on an alarming rate.

 _»Well, I think it's only natural.«_ The Riddler mocked again. _»You are starting to realize that I am right and that we should go back to how we were before the ice. Forget Lee already. She isn't the right fit for us anyway. And she will probably stab you in the guts when she doesn't need you anymore!«_

»Shut up.«

 _»But you know that it's true, Ed!«_ Finally, the Riddler turned away from the poor man who just lost the board game against himself. He straightened out his back with a low sigh as he turned his body fully towards Ed now. _»I am you! She is using you for her own gain - to get the Narrows under her control. She is using you because she knows that your genius will benefit her in the long run until she won’t need you any longer. Do you really think that she forgot how you got Jim behind bars and subsequently made her lose her baby?«_

»She has forgiven me!«

 _»Oh, has she now? If you really think that you know even less about women than I originally thought!«_ He laughed that deep guttural laugh that vibrated in his very soul and scratched on the inside of his skull. _»Just accept it, Eddie! She is gonna gut you! If she was your friend then why didn't she visit you by now?«_

»She doesn't know I am here!«

 _»Of course, she knows! Do you really think she wouldn't have already figured it out by now? You had a god damn break down when you thought Oswald was dead!«_ His laugh never seized. _»You were a wreck! You are so pathetic, Eddie and the worst about it is that everyone can see it! You are but a joke! You are not a villain, Ed! You are weak! You are nothing! You are just that little, nervous freak that worked for the GCPD once and killed a handful of people! You don't matter to anyone in this town and you will be forgotten when you die like a rat in here!«_

»Shut the fuck up! Shut up!« He jumped at his other self without thinking about it. It was stupid and he knew that it was the dumbest thing he had ever done and yet he couldn't keep himself from doing so. His hands wrapped around his throat and he started squeezing without thinking about it. That he was soon tackled by the guards had to have been expected, he assumed. But instead of just restraining him, Edward was dragged out of the rec room and down the corridor. Not towards the cells, though, but down in the opposite direction.

»Where are you taking me?« He yelled and only started to fight against the grip the nurses had on him as he realized that they were heading down the way to the restricted area of the hallway. »Let go! I didn't do anything!«

He knew that behind that heavily locked and guarded metal door the real therapy was usually happening. Down there, electroconvulsive therapy took place. Down there patients would be dragged screaming and return docile and quiet. Until now, he had always very successfully prevented himself from getting dragged there. Why was he being dragged there now? Just because he had been screaming at nothing?

He didn't stand a chance against the two burly nurses as they were dragging him through the metal doors that were opened for them by the guards in front of it. He kicked and screamed just like all the other lunatics he had observed in the past.

»Get your fucking hands off of me!« He yelled as loudly as he possibly could despite knowing that this would not help him in any way. If anything, it would make the situation only worse. He knew that. Before he knew it he had been dragged into a tiled room and slammed onto a gurney in the middle of the room. »Let go! I didn't do anything!«

_»You really shouldn't fight them, you know? It just makes them hornier.«_

At least he gave them troubles as he kicked one of them straight in the jaw as he tried to bind his legs to the bed. He took the man’s curse with some satisfaction but, in the long run, it didn't change anything about the fact that he was being bound to the bed and got a gag shoved into his mouth so that he wouldn't bite his tongue. They didn't talk to him as they put the sensors and electrodes on his forehead. Only when they were done with their work, they stepped back and waited until the doctor would arrive.

»At least he is quiet now.« One of the nurse’s huffed while his colleague was clutching his jaw. He was satisfied that he had succeeded in hurting him. he was a bit surprised to see Dr. Whitman walk through the door and into the room a few minutes later. Then again, who else would it be? His face was as calm and empathetic as always as he stepped towards him and leaned down just a bit to inspect Edward’s face.

»Hello, Mr. Nygma. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience and the discomfort. It was brought to my attention that you behaved a bit erratic and violent towards another patient today. I was told you were talking to yourself before you attacked another patient and tried to strangle him. But don't worry, we have achieved very promising results with this method of therapy with other patients that shared your diagnosis.« Dr. Whitman explained calmly and left Edward confused.

He had attacked another patient?

 _»Since when are you able to touch me, Ed?«_ The Riddler mocked from where he stood by his side. He closed his own hands around his neck mockingly and rolled his eyes as he produced a choking sound. _»Of course it wasn’t me you choked. You know that. You know what I know. Poor Pauly. All he wanted to do was ask you if you would play Jenga with him because he kept losing to himself.«_

If he would be able to talk, he would have laughed and thrown insults at Dr. Whitman. Instead, however, he could only try to focus on the Riddler standing on his right-hand side as fear took hold of him. Until this very moment, he hadn't quite realized that this was real. Until this very moment, as Dr. Whitman walked over to the machine and reached out to switch it on, it had not registered in him that this was really going to happen. Shit like this only happened to other patients! Shit like this only happened to those who were truly insane, to those who would be mumbling to themselves, who would have full-fledged conversations and arguments with someone who wasn’t even there!

_Oh. Oh dear._

 

**-End of Chapter 7-**


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick disclaimer: Oswald's POV is very much jumbled-up and distorted and its meant to be confusing as hell!

»You seem to have made a new friend lately.« Dr. Whitman’s expression was calm and collected, the gleam in his grey eyes almost compassionate. Almost. He couldn't fool Edward, though - Not after the therapy he had bestowed upon him the other day. Outside of the window behind the good doctor, it was raining cats and dogs over Gotham - just like any other day. »Mr. Cobblepot. You seem to have spent a lot of time together lately.«

»We were friends a long time ago.« Ed replied calmly and tried to keep his voice down - timid, almost, channeling the Edward Nygma he had been a lifetime ago working for the GCPD.

He was missing time. In fact, he wasn't sure how much time had passed since the electroshock therapy. Days? Weeks? He was still just glad that he had not turned out like Dietrich. Then again, a part of him wondered just how much that poor guy actually realized about his condition. Perhaps he wasn’t aware that he was pretty much a vegetable. Perhaps he was actually content inside of his own mind. _Ignorance is bliss_.

Yet, he was still not himself again. He was missing time. He would close his eyes and when he would open them, he would be someplace else. The last time he had experienced that was the night his alter ego had hidden Kristen Kringle’s body in the morgue of the GCPD.

»It was a surprise to find him here. I thought he was dead.« He added after a moment of contemplation how he wanted to proceed with this conversation.  

Dr. Whitman nodded slowly with a low hum like a parent who just acted as if they would listen to what their kids were saying. It wouldn't be a surprise in a place like this. All those doctors and nurses only acted interested in their patients' welfare. They didn't really care. »In all honesty, Ed, I am not sure if this friendship with Mr. Cobblepot will be beneficial to your healing process. He might serve as a constant reminder of your criminal past.«

» _He_ serves as a constant reminder of my criminal past.« Ed scoffed.

» _He_? The Riddler?« Ed nodded sharply. »Do you still see him?«

»Not since the electroshock therapy.« He wouldn't say though that he had had blackouts since then. He was too afraid of what the doctor might do to him then. More shock therapy, perhaps? Stronger drugs? Still, the blackouts were almost more unsettling and scary than seeing the Riddler out of the corner of his eyes every waking second. It was almost calming to have him stand in the corner of the room or doing some outlandish things to the other patients. Not seeing him was just odd. It was as if he was constantly looking at a giant puzzle and one single piece was missing - yet he couldn't quite figure out what it was or where it went. »He is … quiet, lately. That's almost more unsettling.«

»What do you mean?« That seemed to pique Dr. Whitman’s interest as he finally looked up from his notebook. By now Ed knew that he was not actually noting anything about their sessions. He was making a list for grocery shopping most of the time or he was doodling.

»I mean that he is never quiet. It's almost like he’s planning something.«

»Edward … We talked about it. This other guy - The Riddler - is just a part of your own psyche. He is not planning anything. He is quiet because the therapy worked.« He said with a smile. »Edward, perhaps it is time now that we start talking about the reasons for your problems.«

»What do you mean? What reasons? There are no reasons. I am a paranoid schizophrenic. There are no reasons for that. It's in my genes - in my DNA.«

He thought about Auntie Irma who had ended up a drooling mess inside a hospital room after she had tried to kill herself. She had attached a tube to the exhaust pipe of her car, closed off the garage, sat down in the driver’s seat and started the car. In her suicide letter, she had scribbled over and over again that the voices made her do it.

He thought about his mother, Auntie Irma’s younger sister, and how she would lie in bed all day sometimes in total darkness. He remembered her throwing manic fits. He remembered his mother taking him and putting him into the backseat of the car and how she drove to a nearby lake. He remembered his mother sobbing into the steering wheel until his father came and drove them home again.

»We should begin to try to get to the bottom of your psychosis. Maybe we should start at the beginning. Tell me about your childhood, Ed. Your mother, for example. How was your relationship with her?«

He actually laughed at this question which only prompted his doctor to raise his brows in surprise - perhaps even affront. »I’m sorry, Doc, but I have never heard  something more cliché than this - not even during my first stay in Arkham.«

»I take it, judging by your reaction, that your relationship with your mother was not a good one.« Dr. Whitman probed further.

»I would not say that.« Edward replied sharply. »I had no relationship with that woman at all. Not after she put me in the backseat of her car and wanted to drive into a lake to kill us both. You see, Doc, mental illness runs in the family and my mother was no exception to that.«

※※※※※※※

They were playing a very dangerous game. Nobody knew this better than Jim. He needed to lay low, act as if he was not investigating against Sophia Falcone and her minions while Oswald was in a constant state of absolute danger ever since he was admitted to Arkham. There was no communication between the asylum and Jim. It was too dangerous.

Sophia was undoubtedly watching him like a hawk. He had no illusions about that. Certainly, she was aware of every step he took. That too was why he could not meet Harvey at his own apartment. He had not found any bugs after Sophia’s first visit where she had ended up shooting Pyg - but what did that really mean, in the end? She was much too clever to plant bugs on him that Jim might find. Yet, he couldn't say for sure that there weren’t any.

Until all of this was over, he should not even breathe in the general direction of Arkham Asylum. Yet, he couldn't deny how nervous he felt thinking about Oswald inside this hospital. Jerome Valeska was in there as well, after all. There was no telling what might happen to the former kingpin. Then again, it was Oswald Cobblepot. He was a lot tougher than he looked like and almost impossible to kill. He would find a way to get through that just fine and come out stronger on the other side. That was just how things were supposed to go, right?

He was worried. Perhaps more worried than he should be. After all, this had been Oswald’s idea. He had known what he was getting himself into. He hadn't been happy about it, of course, but in the end, Arkham Asylum seemed to be the safest place for him at the moment. Or at the very least, Arkham was the last place anyone would expect him to be at.

Still, he would be a lot calmer if at least Ivy or Gabe would be able to go visit Oswald and let Jim know if he was alright. They should be sworn enemies after everything that they had gone through together in the past - especially after this whole mess with the licenses and Sophia. The truth was, however, that they shared more than just the business side of things. They were not exactly friends, of course, but they shared a connection. Maybe, had everything played out a little differently, their relationship would have extended past the occasional fuck in Jim’s run-down apartment.

»Nygma has gone missing.« He sighed as he climbed the barstool at the counter and didn't have to wait long before Harvey planted a glass of whiskey in front of him. Outside it was raining cats and dogs and Jim was soaked to the core.

By now, he and Harvey had settled into a comfortable routine with each other again. To outsiders, they would look like old friends sharing a bit of their time in Harvey’s bar. Nothing suspicious. Jim would come by every day after work around the same time, sit down on the same barstool, get a drink and chat with Harvey. Most of the time, they would talk about life and work, not about Oswald or anything that had anything to do with Sophia Falcone. Just to be safe.

»And that's a bad thing?« Harvey chuckled as he downed his own glass of whiskey at once. Despite working behind the counter of his own bar yet again, Harvey was drinking less than during his time as a full-time detective. He usually only took a drink when Jim was around. Maybe it was Scottie’s good influence. That woman was a saint to even give Harvey a second chance.

She would not be happy to hear it when Harvey would return to his life in law-enforcement when Sophia was dealt with. She would not be happy to hear that Harvey was helping him. Then again, last time she had seen Jim, she had greeted him with a tight-lipped smile and kissed Harvey’s cheek as if to make a point towards Jim. She knew the old grouch. She knew that Harvey wouldn't stay away for long. Jim just wished that, this time, everything would work out for Harvey.

»Lee called me today.« Jim clarified. »Apparently, she hasn't heard from Ed for at least two weeks now. She didn't think much of it at first but now she’s getting concerned about him.«

»Well, in my experience a missing Nygma is a good Nygma.«

»Or he plans something. You know Ed, Harv. It's dangerous when he’s all silent. And we really can’t use another one of his rather creative stunts at the moment.« Harvey had always underestimated Edward Nygma and what he was capable of. »Don't forget the time he let you dangle from a banister tied to a chair and threatened to kill you just to play his stupid game with Lucius.«

»Oh, don't worry. I’ll never forget that.« Harvey sighed with a roll of his eyes. »You should have seen him back then. He had a complete meltdown when Fox confronted him about Penguin.«

»Do you think he could have had another meltdown when he learned about Oswald’s death a few weeks ago?« It wouldn't be much of a surprise. And, after all, Lee had already told him that Edward had been hit quite hard by the news when they first hit. There was no telling what Edward would do now. Maybe he would even go against Jim.

»He’s Nygma. nothing is impossible when it comes to this lunatic.« As if something had clicked suddenly in Harvey’s brain, he paled. »You don't think that he … that he might be in Arkham?«

»If he is, we might get a problem. Crap. We can't even go there and ask about him.«

And as long as Harvey would still be working undercover and not as a real policeman again, he did not have any believable reason to go there and ask about Nygma either. »But don't you think that if he’s in Arkham and stumbled upon our feathery friend, he would have already tried contacting you to strike some kind of deal?«

»Yeah … You're probably right. It wouldn't be like Ed to sit silently on such a piece of information with everything that's going on. And why would he go to Arkham of his own volition anyway?« It just was not like Edward Nygma to go voluntarily to Arkham to finally seek out help for his condition. Whatever his condition was, in the end. He doubted that there was a word to describe Edward Nygma’s troubled mind. Paranoid schizophrenia didn't seem to cut it quite.

»He will turn up eventually. Preferably in pieces.« Harvey scoffed as he refilled Jim’s glass. »Anyway. I think I might have found a lead regarding the real killers of Falcone.«

»You did?« His face lit up at once but Harvey let out a barking laugh at the sight.

»Hey, don't get your hopes up just yet.« Harvey huffed. »Remember my good old friend Skinner? I have a date with her tomorrow. Perhaps I will know more afterward.«

»I’ll drink to that.« Jim grinned. It wasn’t much but at least it felt like they were finally getting somewhere. At the very least, he thought as he was clinking glasses with Harvey, he had his best friend at his side again. Harvey might now have forgiven him just yet but perhaps they were on the right path.

※※※※※※※

It was as if boiling hot lava was being poured directly into his skull. This sensation had not changed from the last time he had experienced this method of utter torture. _Therapy_. He could all but feel the doctor stirr in his brain, mangling it, mulling it over, searching and scanning for anything he might be able to use against him.

He was deaf to his own screams at this point. His throat was raw. He couldn't breathe. He was tormented by the demons of his past. At least he was not chained to a chair. The helmet - the contraption - bit into his skull as he moved around the circular room. He could move around but the sounds of his chains rattling were grinding on his nerves, the noise almost deafening. All the could do was scream. All he could do was go in for the attack or try to hide as he was pressing his back against the wall. Deep down, in spite of the drugs, he knew that there was no way out. There was no escape as his tormentors grabbed him.

Suddenly, he was fourteen again and in the showers of his high school gym. He was naked, standing in the middle of the showers, The laughter was louder than any hurricane. He could not do anything except endure the abuse, endure the jokes that were made on his expense, endure the kicks that rained down on him like a hailstorm.

He clawed at his head but that torture device would not budge. It was more likely that he would rip his own head off in the process.

»Tell me what you saw, Oswald.« He was back in Dr. Santoro’s office. It was cold inside the room and through the windows shone a strange blue light. How did he get here? How long was he sitting in this chair? Had he only dreamed the nightmares that he had seen? »Oswald?« He clicked his pen and Oswald almost violently snapped out of it. It was as if he returned to his body at once. A snap and he was back. But where had he been in the meantime?

»I … I don't know.« He lied and Dr. Santoro knew that he lied. Shame was creeping up the back of his neck like a fat spider. Telling lies was bad. Professor Strange would not be happy with him. No … not Professor Strange. He was gone, right?

»Oswald.«

»I am not sure … It's all so blurry, all so convoluted. I don't know … I saw my old school again and my old bullies. And I saw Fish - she destroyed my leg. And … Edward. Edward was there.«

»Edward Nygma … let's talk about him. What's the story there?« A metronome was clicking in the background. _Click, click, click_. Or was it the pen?

»He was my friend.« He replied quietly. »I trusted him - I loved him. I would have done anything for him, even give up my own life.«

»What changed?« The strange blue light only grew in intensity and slowly Oswald realized that he was staring at a block of ice just outside the window. Maybe the window itself was frozen solid. Moonlight was shining through the ice, broken into a thousand rays of light like through a diamond or a kaleidoscope.

»I killed his girlfriend. He shot me.« _Nothing changed_ , he wanted to say. _I still love him. I still would do anything for him._

»But you seem to have befriended him again lately.«

»He saved me.« He replied right away, maybe a little too eagerly as the blue light started to burn in his eyes. He needed to look somewhere else. »He helped me.« He was freezing cold at this point. His own teeth were chattering loudly. Dr. Santoro seemed fine.

»Do you think that you can trust him?« Dr. Santoro asked clicking his pen again. »After everything? What if he betrays you again?« _Click. Click. Click._

»He won’t.« His breath came out in tiny white clouds but Dr. Santoro did not seem uncomfortable. even to his own ears, his voice sounded thin and not overly confident in Ed and their newfound friendship. He wanted to believe that they were friends and that they could move past all of what had happened.

»What are your feelings towards Mr. Nygma?« His eyes were glowing like those of a demon as he looked at him now. Blood-red and squeezed together into tiny slits.

»I still love him.« He whispered. It was a secret no one could ever know. He was a child again, going to the confessional in his church. On the other side of that grit sat a priest who idly listened to everything the people had to rid themselves of. »I will never stop feeling like this. But I know now that he will never feel the same way. Who would fall in love with a freakshow like me anyway?«

»Who indeed?«

»What?«

He blinked once and, just like this, was catapulted back into the Fishbone. The warm light of fake candles was dancing over heavy red wallpaper and draperies. »I don't know if I can do this, Miss Mooney.« He saw himself sitting across from Fish in a booth at one side of the room and yet it was as if he was looking at a completely different person. He was such a tiny, innocent boy with dirty blonde hair and a suit that didn't fit right. »I mean … I have never…«

»That's exactly why you need to do this, Darling. If you want to get ahead you better start bending over. Plus you are exactly his type.« Her smile, as she lifted her wineglass to greet the man they were talking about a few tables further down, was that of a shark. He could still feel her soft hand on his cheek as she was brushing her fingers lovingly over his skin. He was her favorite pet. He was the small bird with the broken wing that she took in and placed in a gilded cage. »He likes them young and innocent. Of course, if you are not willing to do the necessary steps, you are always free to leave and never return.«

»No!« He gasped. »No … I can do this.« And yet his voice was trembling, thin and cracking around the edges. Looking back on it now like this, seeing it from a different perspective with years of experience, he was sure that Fish had enjoyed hearing the terror in his voice. He had been a kid! To this day, he remembered that night. He was back in that room again, staring into the face of the demon that was pounding into him again without a care in the world for his comfort or pain. He was clawing at his arms so hard he drew blood but all he got for this was a slap across the face. And then, as he looked at the man above him again, he wore a different face. Jerome, Jim - Edward. It changed and changed and changed until it stuck with Edward.

He was wrapping his hands around Oswald’s throat and squeezed. _Click. Click. Click._ The pain was unbearable but worse was only the blind panic as his lungs filled with the icy harbor water. He sank like a stone and the water was red around him as blood was oozing out of him like ink from a squid.

»We are going to have so much fun together.« That cackling maniacal laughter was almost too much. There was an explosion somewhere behind his eyelids that shook him awake. A car was going up in flames right in front of his very eyes. A boy looked up at him with hopeful brown eyes. His boy. His Martin. His darling boy.

He was dead again and sinking like a stone to the bottom of the river. Dead, dead, dead. People took pictures of his naked body on the metal slab in the morgue. Around him was only darkness, disrupted by the flashes of light and the sound of photos being taken. And then darkness and fear and nothing else. He was being buried alive and could not claw his way out. This was it. And above him, through the tons of soil, like the midnight bell, he could hear the people of Gotham rejoice.

_The king is dead._

※※※※※※※

He was already in his cell and reading a book he smuggled out of the rec room that night when it happened. He still had at least two hours before he would be locked inside his cell. Two hours that he could spend wondering if providing a copy of ‘A clockwork orange’ to the patients of a mental asylum was the best choice the staff could have made. However, there was noise coming from the hallway that made his attention shift from the book to the door of his room every now and again so that it became almost impossible to focus on the text. He could sense that someone or something was coming to his room. It was like electricity in the air before a storm, tingling down his spine.

And, finally, Edward heard him before he saw him.

Oswald's voice was too distinct for Edward to not recognize it immediately. Too often had he witnessed him at the verge of utter hysteria. Too often had he seen him having a breakdown. He knew by heart how Oswald’s voice would hitch in his throat, how high it would suddenly turn when he would lose all control. He was mumbling something to himself that he couldn't quite understand over the distinct pitter-patter of naked feet on linoleum. Ed stayed where he was at first but when Oswald came through the open door, he was on his feet in an instant and couldn't even quite tell why that was. Suddenly, though, his body was on high alert.

Oswald looked horrible and for once not because he had been beaten up again. He looked as if he had been mangled in a meat grinder but there was no damage to him - at least not more than usual. This time around, he was wearing neither shoes nor socks. Even before Ed could say something, Oswald let out a strangled little sound.

»Ed!« He gasped and suddenly leaped forward to grasp the front of his uniform. First, he thought Oswald was going straight for his throat. His eyes were swimming in water, his lips were quivering. »I need your help!« Oswald all but sobbed much too close for comfort. The fingers that were clawing at him were trembling violently. »I don't know what's real anymore! They are torturing me, Ed! You have to help me!«

»There's nothing I can do!« Ed replied and tried helplessly to pry his fingers away, Suddenly, Oswald seemed to possess a strength beyond what was logical. His mind was racing and his gut instinct told him to get away from the smaller man. »I can't help you!« His own voice started to become shriller in his sudden rush of panic at the sight of Oswald’s wide, almost manic, eyes.

»I am not talking to you, Ed!« He sniffled, his face torn somewhere between a crazy smile and pure desperation. »I’m talking to _him_!«

»What?« Ed replied with confusion. »What are you talking about?«

Oswald actually laughed at this as if Ed had made the joke of the century, maniacal, hysterical.

_»What has two eyes but cannot see what’s happening right in front of him?«_

There he was again, his phantom, his demon in the green suit standing right behind Oswald with glee in his eyes as he zeroed in on Ed like a hunter on its prey. Oh, this wasn’t good.  

»He will help me!« Oswald laughed. »He will help me find a way out of here!«

»No!« Ed bit out and finally pried Oswald’s fingers from his uniform almost violently to get some distance between them again as he stumbled backward and closer towards his bed again. »No! I came here to save Lee! I came here to get rid of him!«

»But he will help me!« Oswald repeated with utter glee in his blue eyes.  

»You - You're wrong! I am Ed- Edward Nygma, that is it! Lee believes in me! She sees me for who I am!« Even to his own ears, he sounded desperate and pathetic. In his chest, his heart was racing as realization slowly sunk in. If there was one person in all of Gotham who might have the power to actually banish him to the backseat of his own mind again, it was Oswald. And he, Ed Nygma himself, had given him this power when he decided that Oswald’s death had been the catalyst of his rebirth. It wasn’t so much that the Riddler and he were two different personalities either. They were very much two sides of the same coin, two sides of the same mind. And yet, Lee would never accept this other side as her friend. Only Oswald had ever accepted both sides of him - and that thought scared the living shit out of him now.

»But I see _him_ , Ed!« Oswald’s clear blue eyes were those of a crazy person, of a man who had been driven over the edge of a cliff and was now clawing at the stone to prevent himself from falling completely. His right hand was balled into a trembling fist as he hammered down his point.

»No!« Ed gasped and his first instinct was to flee the room. He shoved Oswald so hard that he almost fell as he tried dashing past him but that was not enough as Oswald quickly recovered and actually tackled him. Before he knew it, he was being pushed against the wall with his back beside the door and Oswald’s trembling fingers were back on him again, clawing at his jumpsuit.

»Lee Thompkins may have made Ed strong - But I see the _other_ you!« His last words were but a whisper as he let go of Ed’s jumpsuit too. It was a secret no one else was supposed to know. It was a confession Oswald would never have dared to make again after Ed had so cruelly broken his heart once. »The one whose name I wouldn't speak. But because he has earned it and because I need him, I’m saying it now!«

It was that what prompted Ed into action once more as the penny finally dropped. He fought back with everything he had in him. He grabbed Oswald by the throat before he realized what he was doing. For just a second, he wanted to kill him. He wanted to close his long fingers around his throat even tighter and watch the life drain from his eyes.

»No!« He breathed. »Please! Please!« Oswald was shaking as violently as a leave on a tree during a hurricane in his grip and yet he managed to speak even as Ed was squeezing the life out of him. Having his fingers around his throat made him feel almost ecstatic.

»I need you - _Riddler_!«

And just like that ,it was as if a switch was flipped in the back of his mind. Someone had switched on the light after an eternity of darkness around him. He didn't let go of Oswald’s throat right away but when he finally did, he took hold of his collar instead only to pull Oswald close and press his mouth against that of the smaller man in an instant.

At last, he was free.

 

**-End of Chapter 8-**


	9. Chapter 9

»Tell me to stop and I will.«

It was dangerous what they were doing. They could get caught any minute now and then they would get in big trouble. If anything, however, this thought was only adding to his arousal. He had pushed his cell door close just seconds ago, if only so that he could push Oswald against it at once and with not much resistance from the smaller man.

»Don't.« Oswald gasped. His voice sounded raspy and his breath was hot against his skin. »Don't you dare.«

Ed let go of the air he had held in his lungs with a soft chuckle at the threat. He quickly reached out and deftly unfastened the buttons of Oswald’s striped shirt. Underneath he was only wearing that thin off-white wife-beater they all got with their uniforms. Not even that they had given Oswald in the correct size.

The press-buttons of his uniform came undone easily and as he pressed his mouth against Oswald’s pale throat, the smaller man shuddered, his lips parted, his eyes wide. There were red marks already forming on the lily-white skin of his throat were Ed had grabbed and choked him only minutes earlier. It felt almost surreal to touch Oswald in this way after years of dancing around each other, after months of planning his murder out of misplaced anger. Yet, it was quite clear, at least to Edward, that neither one of them wanted to think about anything at all right now. And most certainly not about the danger of Jerome Valeska finding out about what they were doing right now.

Since the jacket was too big for Oswald anyway, it slid easily from his shoulders and his arms to land in a pile on the ground. The wife beater was soon to follow as Edward all but tore it off of Oswald even though that meant breaking away from him for just a second or two. He didn't want to rush any of this. He wanted to take his time. Yet, with the ever-looming threat of being discovered, there really was no time.

The other him, the weaker part of his mind, would have wanted to wait with all of this until they would be out of Arkham and back into safety. He would spend hours and hours worshipping the body of his former friend and enemy. He, on the other hand, knew that they would never be able to catch their breath and they would never be safe out there in Gotham. He had waited for far too long to dance around this for even a second longer. He wanted Oswald so bad that it hurt and now that he got the opportunity, he would not let it go.

He dragged Oswald away from the door after this only to turn him around within milliseconds. He took a step closer, inspected the scars both old and new that were littering the former mayor’s back. Gently he ran a finger over the bullet wound in Oswald’s shoulder. Flashes of Oswald lying in his bed, bathed in the green light from the neon sign outside of his window, pale and weak crossed his mind as he pressed his lips to the wound that had initially brought them together. He needed to thank Tabitha for that, actually. At Oswald's sharp intake of breath, he grinned against the marred skin.

»Does it still hurt?«

»Only when it gets cold.« Oswald breathed into the silence of the room, his voice so quiet as if he was honestly afraid he might burst the bubble if he would talk too loud.

Ed reached around him, his fingers playing with the top button of his striped pants, still not quite touching but undoubtedly, Oswald could feel his warm breath against the nape of his neck. The button came undone along with the rest and Ed allowed the pants to slide down Oswald’s slim hips until they pooled around his bare feet. The only thing left now were Oswald's itchy off-white briefs - the same ones everyone got in this god-awful place. The same ones Ed was wearing as well.

»You can take these off yourself.« Ed muttered, running his fingers teasingly along the waistband.

He enjoyed the sound as Oswald swallowed hard and he stepped back at the sound, allowed him to peel off his briefs to join his pants on the floor. Ed waited, taking Oswald’s appearance in from behind just long enough for the silence to grow uncomfortable as he wondered just how Jerome would usually have him. It was his competitive nature that wanted Oswald to forget all about that ginger freak. Oswald seemed uncomfortable as Ed circled around him again to face him head-on. Was he perhaps self-conscious about his appearance? Oswald had always been vain but he had never struck Ed as someone who would give a damn about the way his naked body might look to other people.

Oswald squirmed under his appraising gaze and Ed watched with delight how the blush spread across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks, highlighting freckles and the tips of his ears, running down his throat and across his shoulders. Oswald’s eyes, much to Ed’s surprise were suddenly fixed to the floor and his shoulders slumped. It wasn't the first time he saw him naked and yet this situation was different. Oswald’s numerous imperfections were laid bare now in front of him and there was no way of hiding any of it.

He couldn't hold back any longer, finally closing the gap between them and gathering Oswald's naked form to his own still clothed body. Oswald instantly wrapped his arms around his back, fiercely clinging to him as Ed ran the tips of his fingers up and down his spine, dipped his head and exhaled against his shoulder. He could feel the racing pulse in Oswald's throat against his cheek.

Neither one of them spoke. There really was nothing they could say at this moment. Oswald just sneaked his fingers into his hair and pulled him closer until Edward finally complied, leaning down just enough so that Oswald would not need to rise to his tiptoes as he kissed him, licking into his mouth as if he was searching for something. Perhaps the grudge Oswald certainly held against him. Perhaps a sign of the distrust Oswald felt towards him. The low whine in Oswald's throat washed out the remaining tension in Ed’s body, in the end. He reached down further, grasped Oswald by the back of his thighs and hauled his legs up around his waist in one swift motion. He remembered the night in the forest as he had found Oswald. He remembered carrying him to his car and how heavy he had been for such a short and slender man. Now he seemed to weigh nothing at all. The thought scared him. Especially after Oswald’s collapse only a little while ago. He needed to eat. Desperately.

»Hold on.« Ed grunted, and Oswald's grip tightened across his shoulders immediately. Already, Oswald was half hard and he could feel his erection press up against his stomach. If Ed hadn’t been aroused before by the situation, undoubtedly, his own cock would have sprung into action at the involuntary moan that escaped Oswald as his erection brushed against the cold metal buttons of Ed’s shirt. Ed walked them across the small room with two long strides, kissing Oswald quick and hard before dumping him down into the scratchy covers of the narrow bed. He rolled him over until he was flat on his front.

Oswald got comfortable quickly, his arms sliding under the pillow in Ed’s bed as if he had done this a thousand times over. He didn't like the thought. It was not on him to judge Oswald or his past, not even his situation with Jerome and yet, it left a bitter taste in his mouth that Oswald would just allow this to happen to him like this. Whenever he had fantasized about fucking him, he had envisioned an Oswald who would be fighting for dominance, who would bite and scratch and claw at him and not allow him to turn him on his front like this to have his way with him as if he was nothing more than something to toy with. Yet, Edward couldn't help the burning arousal that was making it almost impossible for him to focus on anything but Oswald’s naked body on the bed. He needed to have him.

He was quick and efficient as he removed his own clothes and the bed dipped as Ed carefully eased Oswald legs apart and settled between his thighs. Oswald shuddered underneath his touch as he allowed his palms to run up and down the backs of his thighs. He wanted to have Oswald feel him press against him like this, wanted him to know that this was real and what he could expect to happen next as his own pulse was hammering in his throat.

There was no ceremony or warning as he pressed his lips to his spine and dragged his tongue along the bones down to his tailbone. Oswald almost would have jumped from the bed if Edward wouldn't have held him down as he firmly grabbed his ass and parted his cheeks to lick further down. Oswald gave an almost scandalized little sound and started squirming as he lapped at his hole. It was scandalously filthy and something the other Ed would have probably never even considered doing.

Oswald writhed underneath Ed, whining almost pathetically and attempted to grind himself down into the mattress for some semblance of relief but Ed pinned him down hard as he moved slowly. He licked up from the base of his balls, across his perineum and back across his twitching hole. The outcry as Ed slipped the tip of his first finger into him, was only muffled as he pressed his face in the pillow. It seemed as if Oswald’s initial embarrassment was well and truly gone as he started pushing back in an attempt to get more as Edward carefully shoved his finger deeper. His sole desire was to make it as comfortable for Oswald as possible - after all, they didn't have lube or anything else they could use as a substitute.

And still, he enjoyed it as he made Oswald jump once more the moment he actually buried his teeth in his right cheek giving it a teasing little nib.

»Don't stop!« Oswald groaned into the pillow as Edward moved his finger inside of him, quickly and with not much effort adding a second. He didn't encounter much resistance as he slid his fingers up to the second knuckle and proceeded to trail hot kisses all the way up his spine and over his shoulder blades. It was hot and tight and Ed felt himself inhaling sharply at the thought of entering Oswald and feeling his heat contract around his own erect cock. He twisted and dragged his fingers and Oswald let out a shaky moan in response all too willingly, all too eager to show Ed how much he enjoyed it.

By the time he withdrew his fingers, Oswald was a wrecked, babbling mess. Well, he had always known that Oswald would be very vocal.

Ed grasped the base of his cock firmly, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He trailed the tip back and forth across Oswald's loosened hole, just enough to tease. Oswald howled with frustration and Ed pressed just the head in and held it there for a few moments, forcing him wide open, before retreating and repeating the action. Just when Oswald’s moan became too desperate, Ed slid in all the way, one long continuous motion that forced the air out of Oswald's lungs in a rush, his body taut like a bowstring.

Smooth muscle molded around his cock like he belonged there. Ed took another steadying deep breath, glancing down to where they were joined before leaning over and plastering himself against Oswald's sweat-damp back. Oswald was silent and still at once - much to his surprise. Silence with Oswald was usually not a very promising sign. It was true that Edward didn't have as much experience with men as Oswald might have but until this very moment, he had not felt self-conscious about it.

»Are you okay?« He breathed against the skin of his shoulder blades, suddenly highly aware of the fact that it might be new to Oswald to be asked that question. »I don't want to hurt you.« Ed kissed his neck, feeling Oswald's pulse race against his lips, strong and alive - much different than Oswald had appeared throughout the last weeks. The real Oswald, the one had had once had in his apartment, was still inside this hollow shell of a man who was in a constant battle with his own mind every day.

»I’m fine…« Oswald stirred, and Ed slipped a hand under the pillow, lacing their fingers together even though the feeling of being buried deep inside of Oswald, was almost too much for him.

He felt Oswald relax underneath him and Ed braced himself and started to move. Oswald whimpered into the pillow as he drew his hips back and snapped them forward. Ed pulled back, throwing a leg over the back of one of Oswald's thighs to get a better angle. One hand squeezing down on Oswald's hip, the other fisting the rough sheets by Oswald's side, he thrust down again and again and again, almost pulling out all the way each time. Oswald's desperate panting and moaning ringing in his ears. He cursed himself for waiting so long for this. Images of himself bending Oswald over the desk in his office in city hall came crashing down on him and almost made it impossible to hold back. He could have had this a long time ago had he not been so blinded by a woman that looked too much like the woman he had killed.

Ed kept it up until the urge to see Oswald’s face became too strong for him to ignore. He didn't know how often he would get the chance to experience this from now on. If Jerome would find out, he would probably soon be dead. They needed to make this one count, they needed to make up for all the time spent in vain. He pushed in hard, pressed his hip bones against the reddened flesh of Oswald's ass before pulling out completely. Before Oswald could complain, Ed was already flipping him over, wrapping his good leg around his waist and letting the other dangle from the side of the bed. He slipped back into tight, wet heat and Oswald was immediately reaching out for him - desperate almost.

Ed almost lost control as he claimed Oswald’s open mouth and pounded his hips forward and into pleasure. By this point, none of them could hold that kiss for too long under their breathless gasps. Oswald's hands were everywhere and nowhere at the same time, unable to get firm purchase anywhere on Ed’s body. Oswald's neglected cock jumped between them, unable to get any friction the way Ed's positioned himself and Oswald reached down, wrapping a palm around it, spreading plentiful precome over his twitching shaft.

»No.« Ed grinned as he quickly took hold of Oswald's wrists and pinned them either side of his head. »Look at me - only at me.« He thrust into Oswald hard and deep - once, twice, stirring his hips and dragging the head of his cock against Oswald's prostate more deliberately now. It might be the first time for him that he actually fucked another guy but his knowledge of the human anatomy and natural curiosity made up for his lack of experience. And Oswald … Hell, he made it pretty easy for Ed to know what he liked or not. Fucking Oswald was like ecstasy running through his veins, like the rush that he had experienced back in the day as he had taken those strange drugs, hoping to get met with a hallucination of his former best friend.

»Fuck, Ed!« Oswald all but sobbed brokenly and squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth bared and his body convulsing violently under Ed as he finally tensed up and came untouched. Stripes of semen were marring the ivory skin of his chest and stomach like spiderwebs.

Ed's breath caught in his chest as he could only stare in awe at the sight. It was too much. The way Oswald looked, his body arched, his eyes glassy as he managed to pry them open once more, the feeling of his body clenching around him and the strangled screams of their shared pleasure that neither one of them could fully bite down on right now. As he came sheeted deep inside of the smaller man his vision almost blacked out completely.

Ed only stilled as Oswald went lax underneath him, boneless in the mess of bedsheets. Their ragged breaths were the only sounds in the humid air surrounding them in the tiny cell and for the moment Ed could blend out the screams of the insane around them. For just this moment, he felt at peace. Calm, even. His mind was whole again. The tugging and pulling on his soul had finally ceased. Ed's muscles screamed at him as he pulled his spent cock from Oswald's body, earning him a hiss from the smaller man, his release leaking out and onto the sheets. He didn't even bat a lash at the thought that he would need to sleep in the mess they had made now. He would enjoy it, actually, smelling Oswald in his bedsheets and the air around him while drifting off to sleep. It was the next best thing since he wouldn't get to have him in his bed instead.

Almost it seemed a miracle that they hadn't been caught.

As he slumped down next to him, Edward only felt the desire of pulling him close and into his arms and yet he was not quite certain if that was what he should be going for. Knowing Oswald Cobblepot as well as he did, he was probably a cuddler. Deep down, no matter how hard he tried to appear most of the time, Oswald was starved for attention. Yet, it would be unwise to do just that.

They should get dressed again and go their separate ways for today. And still, although he knew this, he found himself pulling Oswald into his arms tightly instead, resting his head on Oswald’s, his ruffled hair tickling his nose. Maybe it was the thought that, as soon as Oswald would walk out of this door, he would lose all control. Jerome might visit Oswald again tonight or tomorrow morning or in the showers. He might be fucking Oswald right in front of him and there would be nothing Ed could do about it.

Why did he care, though?

He got what he wanted, right? Finally, he was back in control over his body, finally, he had his priorities straight and could now work on getting out of this place. And finally, he had been able to blow off some steam in fucking Oswald as he should have years ago. And still the thought of actually leaving Oswald behind in this asylum to go his own merry way as the Riddler, actually worried him.

»I’m gonna help you find out what happened to you.« Ed murmured softly into Oswald’s black hair. Being so close up, he could already see his blonde roots starting to show but took it only with a small grin. It wasn't that much of a surprise to him, really. After all, he had seen him naked a long time ago already and back then Oswald had probably been too preoccupied with the whole Galavan mess and the tragic loss of his mother to make sure to cover up his little secret downstairs as well.

Ed’s lips were sealed, though.

※※※※※※※

The last time he had been sitting in the heavily guarded visitation room of Arkham was over a year ago when Oswald presented him with that weird little puzzle-box. This time, there was no Oswald sitting across from him with those hopeful blue eyes, trying to comfort his only friend. Instead, it was Lee Thompkins looking her usual best, fierce and strong, her long hair like silk. A part of him had been uncertain how he would react if he would see her again. He was maybe a little surprised that the other him was quiet in the back of his mind as he sat across from her.

Of course, there was still a certain sense of interest stirring in his guts and groin whenever he saw her. She was an attractive woman, after all. She was sexy - even more so now that she was more in tune with her dark side and was not such a perfectly nice lady any longer. Her hands were capable of killing and she was embracing that now.

»Ed.« She addressed him as he slowly walked over to the table in the middle of the room and sat down. Behind him, the door was shut firmly but a guard was keeping watch from the other side. Precaution. She actually looked shocked seeing him here. »When I got your message, I was … What are you doing here? I thought you were dead when you just vanished like that!«

»I appreciate the worry.« Ed replied calmly. For the longest time, he had wondered if he should act like the Ed that Lee was calling a friend to deceive her. But what would be the point of that anyway? She would find out sooner or later - and Lee Thompkins was dreadfully smart.

»You are him.« Lee was quick to catch on and leaned back in her chair. She was not trying to get more distance between them. No, it was a gesture of resignation. For a second, he was almost worried that Lee would get up and walk out on him right away. She kept sitting where she was, though. »The _Riddler_.«

»Hi, Lee.« He grinned that full-tooth grin he knew was unsettling to most people - except Oswald, of course. Nothing he did could unsettle that tough little bird. Not even when he would train a gun on him or drag the muzzle of a pistol along his jaw he would seem troubled.

»What is going on here, Ed?«

»I need your help.«

»Tough luck then.« She huffed. »I would help the other you to get out of here - but you? I think you are right where you belong.«

»Ouch! So cruel!« He huffed with amusement dripping from his voice. »But you are wrong. This is not about me at all.«

»Since when do you care about anyone but yourself?« Ed knew that there was no reason to lie and act as if she wouldn't be right. Lee was smarter than that. Smarter than his doctors for certain. Until now, Dr. Whitman had not yet caught up with the latest development. It had been days. Instead, the good doctor had developed a quite unhealthy obsession with Ed and Oswald’s _relationship_. Whatever this relationship even was. »What's this about then? What do you want from me?«

»Oh … Not from you, actually. I want you to deliver a message to Jim.«

»You could write him a letter then.« She offered with a cold little smile tugging on her red-red lips. In another world, in another reality, he would have loved to see those lips around his dick. These days, however, his fantasies were preoccupied with someone else.

»I’m afraid that's not possible.« He replied nonchalantly. »Too dangerous. It's about an old friend of his.«

»What friend?« The notion that Jim might have a friend or some form of acquaintance rotting inside Arkham Asylum seemed to amuse her enough to actually scoff at Edward’s words. Or was it disbelieve he saw flashing in her dark eyes? Dark and mysterious, that was Leslie Thompkins. No wonder Jim hadn't been able to keep her around.

»I have wings but I cannot fly.« He began calmly but with another rather toothy grin pulling at his mouth. »I’m wearing black and white but not a tie. What am I?«

Lee looked confused for just a second before she realized that she had understood the riddle correctly. She didn't need to answer for Ed to know that she knew the answer - and ultimately what, or rather whom, he meant by it. Immediately, she cast a glance over her shoulder to the armed guard at the door and leaned a little closer to the table instead of further away.

»He’s dead!« She gasped barely audible as if she would be afraid that the guards at both doors might listen in on their conversation. »Edward … If you're still in there … I know his death has been hard on you and that you regret so many things when it comes to him but … if that’s why you are here, you have to move on from this. He is dead.«

»Of course, he is.« Ed agreed with a sly little smirk as he leaned forward on the desk between them, his arms crossed on the desk. They were mere inches apart now. Conspirators, once more. Just as they had been when Ed had helped her to gain power over the Narrows. »However, I would like you to drop by Jim’s place and deliver him this message: Our special friend needs help because he cannot remember how he got to be in this state of … being.«

»You need help, Ed.« Lee frowned as she got up from her chair.

»That is why I am here.«

※※※※※※※

Jim’s visits to Harvey’s bar had become a regular thing by now and so none of the usual patrons even bat a lash as he entered the bar and strolled straight towards the counter to his friend. »Good to see you, Brother.« Jim muttered and was rewarded with the familiar gruff of his friend.

»The usual?«

»Yeah.« He sighed.

»Tough day?«

Jim huffed a humorless little laugh at that. Ever since he had set foot into this town after returning from the war, he hadn't had one peaceful day. This was Gotham, after all. This city thrived on chaos and crime and bloodshed. Sometimes he wondered if his fight was really worth fighting still. Sometimes he wondered if he should just cave in already and live by the example Harvey had given him all those years ago. Accept and adapt. But whenever he thought something like that, he remembered something Oswald once told him. _You are a good man, Jim. Perhaps the only hero Gotham has left_. A part of him wondered if Oswald still meant those words to this day. There was no denying that this city had, in a way, tarnished and corrupted him. And then there were kids like Bruce Wayne to whom he wanted to act as an example. There was a whole new generation of Gothamites right now who needed someone to show them that there would always be hope, even in the darkest nights.

»This city spits out freakish monsters as if there would be a factory somewhere.«

»Knowing this city, there probably is.« Harvey laughed and placed a glass of Whiskey in front of him just as the door opened again. As per usual, Harvey looked up to greet the new customer just to have his smile falter slightly before picking it up again. »Well, that's new.«

»Hello, Harvey!« Jim almost jumped from his chair at the sound of the familiar voice coming from the doorway before he turned around - in a very forceful calm manner - to see Lee Thompkins walk up to the counter, the clicking of her heels echoing in the bar. She looked stunning as usual, perhaps even more so since her little transformation and making her acquaintances with her dark side. Being the queen of the narrows had made her even more confident, as it seemed now and she actually greeted Jim with a smile. »Jim. Exactly the man I was looking for.«

She sat down in one fluid motion on the barstool on Jim’s left-hand side as she turned to Harvey. »I take the same as he.« She gestured towards Jim’s glass and Harvey was quick to pour her a stiff drink before placing it in front of her on the stained wood.

»How did you know where to find me?« Jim finally found his voice again. Although it wasn't exactly what he wanted to ask, it was what came out. Lee, however, only chuckled at his words.

»Jim, really. It's not that hard to find you, Jim Gordon - the hero of Gotham.« She scoffed but it was not meant as an insult. It was her very unique way of gently poking fun of him. She had always done that and he had always loved it. »I asked for you at the precinct. Harper told me that you usually visit Harvey when your shift is done.«

Of course. Well, he had made a point of not making his visits to the bar a secret. Everyone, especially Sophia, should know about them and should know that he wasn’t trying to hide those visits to the bar. It had to all look normal and casual. Not as if he was in cahoots with his former partner. In a way, his very public falling out with Harvey months ago was beneficial to them now.

»You look like you’ve seen a ghost.« Jim smirked after he had finally swallowed his surprise of seeing her here. Usually, she hardly left the Narrows to keep everyone in check. It was her declared mission of helping the people of the Narrows, rebuilding her clinic and aiding those in need. She wouldn't say it but Jim knew her well enough to see that she was blaming herself for the way those people were suffering now. After all, the Narrows had been hit the hardest by the Tetch Virus. And if Lee, controlled by the virus, had not put Jim into a shallow grave to force him to take the virus himself, he might have been able to stop this madness - or at least reduce the resulting carnage.

»Well … Not a ghost perse.« She replied and downed her drink in one swift motion, gesturing to Harvey to refill her glass. The way the three of them were together right now, felt familiar. »I found Nygma.«

»Oh?« He huffed. »Under which stone did he hide this time?«

»Arkham.« She replied calmly but the gaze she shot him next, made it clear to Jim that there was some deeper meaning behind her remark, almost as if they were all sharing a secret without quite knowing that the other person knew.

»Just where he belongs.« Harvey replied with a shrug, although Jim could see the nervous twitch of his mouth as he forced it into a grin. Having Edward Nygma inside Arkham was dangerous. What if he would meet Oswald? What if he would realize he wasn't dead? This was literally their worst case scenario.

»He said that he was there to get help for his little … _problem_. I’m afraid his plan didn't quite work, though. He was less Edward Nygma - at least not the Ed Nygma he once was - you see and more-«

»Riddler.« Jim frowned.

»Yes.« Lee sighed with a shake of her head. »A shame, really. I liked the old Edward. The one who worked at the GCPD and annoyed everyone with his Riddles. But, oh well, there is nothing that could be done about that now.«

»Did you come here to tell me just that?«

»No.« She replied, dragging her left index finger slowly and deliberately over the rim of her glass. »Actually, I have a message for you.«

»What kind of message?«

»Well … You see, Edward is completely insane, of course. No one knows that better than I. Still, what he told me today was at the very least concerning.« She paused and pointedly looked at Jim now. »You see, if what he told me is true and not just a symptom of his illness, I would need to start questioning the motives under which you are operating at the moment, Jim.«

»Lee, just spit it out.«

»Ed told me to deliver you a message from a mutual friend.« Lee droned on and took a sip of her drink. »He told me that this friend needs your help, Jim, because he cannot remember what happened to him. And I too would really like to know what happened to this young man Edward has spoken about. You see, for all I know - for all Gotham knows - he should be dead.«

»I don't know what he’s talking about.« Jim deflected coldly. He felt almost dirty dismissing Lee like this. There were only very few people left in this town Jim Gordon actually trusted and Lee Thompkins, despite all the drama they went through together, was one of those people.

»Cut the bullshit, Jim.« Lee hissed but kept her voice down so that no one would overhear them talking. »I know Penguin is alive so my question now is why and how? What did you do this time, Jim? You and your stupid plans! Every time you try to fix something you only make everything worse all the time!«

Her words were like a slap to the face but Jim knew that he did deserve it. She was right, after all. He had this tendency of only making matters worse. Before he could answer her, however, Harvey took a deep sigh and refilled both their glasses without asking first only to pour himself one as well.

»They planned this together, Lee. Jim and Penguin. After Falcone’s death.«

»I lost control.« He admitted with a sigh. »I thought … If I would get the help of a Falcone, I might be able to stop the licenses. Instead, I made everything worse. It was Sophia who hired Pyg.« If Lee was surprised, she didn't show it.

»It was Sophia who made me captain of the GCPD to have me dance from her strings. She was behind everything. And then this incident under the Crown Point Bridge happened when Oswald allegedly blew up this boy. He came to me afterward and told me what happened under this bridge and that he didn't blow up this kid. With the help of Zsasz, he wanted to fake his death so that Sophia, who had held the boy hostage, didn't have any leverage against him.«

He took a deep breath before he continued with a small, humorless chuckle.

»Turned out, Oswald had already adopted that boy a few days before all of this went down, right after that god-awful incident at the orphanage where I arrested Pyg. He was terrified for the boy’s safety. When Falcone died, we both knew that she would pit Zsasz against Oswald. Zsasz has always been loyal to the old man, after all, and his death was hard on him. I could see that at the funeral. Anyway, Oswald and I hatched a plan then. We knew Sophia would come to me and tell me about the incident with Martin, the kid, and by then Oswald had already found out that Zsasz had taken him somewhere else. He knew that he couldn't trust Zsasz after Falcone’s death.«

»And yo you decided to fake his death?« Lee concluded with a sigh.

»Pretty much. I knew to beat Sophia I needed Oswald alive and Oswald needed to be removed from the city. He needed to be removed from the threat. If he would be alive and in Arkham or Blackgate, Sophia would just have him killed behind bars. Nothing easier than that. She needed to think that he was dead. And so, when she came to me to tell me about his crime, the plan went into motion. I gave him the heads-up, I briefed my men that no one is going to shoot Oswald - except me, if it would come to this.«

In his head, that god-awful day was playing on repeat ever since he had entered the Iceberg Lounge. Every night, he was tormented by visions of how much could have gone wrong.

»We went there, I confronted him. Zsasz, as expected, betrayed Oswald and underlined Sophia’s lies about Martin’s death before he just left. Oswald resisted the arrest and started shooting. He was wearing a bulletproof vest underneath his suit, filled with blood packages. Real blood - don't ask me where he got that from. I really don't wanna know. Everything was meticulously planned and I just needed to make sure to hit him in the center of his body and that no one would actually kill him. Luckily, the other cops were too occupied with Oswald's henchmen.«

»But he … He was dead.« Lee frowned.

»It was a drug.« Jim shrugged. »He took it shortly before we arrived. It was created by Ivy Pepper. For being only a kid in the body of a grown woman, she really is smart when it comes to those things. Oswald can be glad that he didn't scare her off with his … well being himself. She timed the dosage perfectly so that the drug would start working shortly after I shot him - but for that, everything had to be right on time, of course.«

»What about the report and the photos?«

»Faked.« Harvey huffed half-amused half-pissed.

»The coroner that was working on him at the GCPD were actually hired by Oswald. No one noticed. After you went away, we had a high fluctuation of different coroners coming from outside the GCPD - at least for open and shot cases like this one. It was easy. They took photos of him in the morgue, yes, but the photos of his wounds were faked, as was the report. It all had to go over quick, after all. It was all just a big show to convince everyone at the GCPD that it was real. They put him in a body bag and sent him off to the funeral home - only that he never arrived there. His goons brought him to the outskirts of town to one of Ivy’s hideouts. Gabe and Ivy were waiting for him there so that Ivy could help him get back to his feet.«

»So his coffin was empty.«

»No.« Jim sighed. »There was the body of some low-life criminal in it who was just released from Blackgate before being stabbed to death by one of Sophia's capos for intruding on her territory. He didn't have family.« No family and no one who would miss him or look for him.  

»Was it actually your plan to have him end up in Arkham?« Lee, rightfully so, sounded completely aghast by the story.

»He wasn't happy with the idea.« In fact, he had thrown one of his usual tantrums at the mere mention of Arkham, the trauma of his last stay at the asylum still visible in his eyes. »But we knew that he couldn't stay at Ivy’s hideout. We didn't know how long we would need to get our plan against Sophia working, after all. He was dropped off at Arkham by Gabe a few days after his faked death.«

»But his death was all over the news!«

»He was smuggled into the asylum. He had paid quite a few people inside the asylum very high sums of money to keep their mouths shut - of course, he also threatened their families and has Gabe taking care of keeping up the threat.Only the people working on his unit know that he is there. There are no records of him being inside Arkham this time.« Which only put Oswald in more danger than ever before. He was outlawed inside the asylum. Even if he would die no one would know. After all, Oswald Cobblepot was already dead, right? Just another thought that kept him up at night.

»What about the other patients? I worked there, Jim. I know that they have access to television!«

»TVs yes. But not to news coverage. Most of the time the only program that is available are cartoons. The patients aren't aware that Oswald is supposed to be dead. That Edward is there too now only complicates everything.«

»That is … a lot.« Lee murmured and emptied her glass before placing it upside down on the counter. »And quite a lot that could possibly go wrong.« Harvey gave a rumbling laugh at her words.

»The understatement of the year!« He groaned. »That plan is bound to backfire. I’ve been telling Jim that for weeks now!«

»It's a very risky plan, yes.« Jim hummed and threw a very pointed glare at Harvey that his best friend only shrugged off. »But it was the only shot we got.«

»And now what?«

»Now we are searching for evidence that Sophia ordered the hit on her father. I know that already, of course, but we need evidence to show to Victor Zsasz.«

»What has he got to do with that?«

»He loved Don Falcone like a father figure, Lee. That was his reason for betraying Oswald. Don't you think he would gladly turn against Sophia would he learn the truth? We need him as a double agent. We need him to get to Martin and get him into safety so that Sophia no longer has leverage against Oswald. Only then Oswald could return from Arkham to aid us against her. We need to dig up all the dirt we can get on her and we only can do this with Oswald's help. Helping him first in saving Martin and getting him out of the line of fire, was his condition. Meanwhile, Ivy and Gabe are doing there best to uncover as much about Sophia's shady businesses as possible.«

»Yes, but with Ed in Arkham now … He might as well tell her that Oswald is alive.« Lee frowned and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Not that she would worry about the former kingpin of Gotham. Jim knew that she would rejoice to see his head on a pike, actually. Still, Jim’s survival hinged on whether or not Oswald was safe at the moment.

»Yes.« Jim sighed. »Can I trust you to keep this a secret, Lee? I don't want you to get involved or hurt in the crossfire.«

She rolled her eyes. »I can hold my own, Jim.« She remarked calmly. »But yes, I keep my mouth shut. Still, what did Ed mean that Oswald doesn't know what happened to him?«

»Ivy said that this could be a side effect. The drug has never been tested before, after all. She said the drug slowed down the heart rate and breathing enough to make the person who took it to appear convincingly dead. A pulse too weak to be detected, cold skin, glassy eyes. Yet, the lack of air the person would get might cause substantial damage to the brain if the dosage was too high and the drug would remain too long in the person’s system. Or it could lead to memory loss - perhaps even hallucinations.«

»Honestly, you can be glad that he isn’t a potato. How did you guys think that this was a good idea?« Lee sighed, her voice scolding like that of Grandma Gordon whenever she had stitched him back together after one of his crazy stunts. Somehow, when you are eight years old, jumping from the roof of a gardening shed into a pile of leaves sounds like a perfectly reasonable idea. »So now Oswald is inside Arkham and he doesn't know why he is there. And you couldn't check on him because it would raise suspicion on Sophia's part. Undoubtedly, she has her eyes on you throughout the day. Which is why you established this routine of coming to Harvey’s bar every night after your shift to keep up appearances and act as if you were playing her game. Oswald’s death, that has been orchestrated by that bitch in a way, was finally the lesson that taught you obedience.«

»Exactly.« He muttered. Sophia should think that he finally gave up. That finally someone had managed to tame the stubborn hero-cop of Gotham. Winning was all she really wanted, after all. She had won against her father, against Oswald and now against Jim. Gotham was her playground. »Ivy or Gabe couldn't go either. Sophia is keeping her eyes on them as well. They are known to have been in cahoots with Oswald. It would raise eyebrows would they go there and visit some mystery patient.«

»That he doesn't know what's going on could be a problem, though.« Harvey sighed. »We need him to get his story straight so that he will be ready when the moment arises. And that's soon because I finally found the necessary information that links Sophia to her father's death.«

»You did?«

»I was about to tell you when Lee came by.« Harvey grinned triumphantly and placed both hands flatly on the beer-stained countertop. »I pinned down the people she hired. Talked to an old friend of mine. A lovely old lady by the name of Scandinavian Skinner. She owed me. From her, I also got the info that Don Falcone only trusted one person with everything and that was his bookkeeper, that weasel Mr. Penn.«

»Isn't that the guy who worked for Oswald?« Jim asked with raised brows at the name. Mr. Penn. He remembered him well. A small, nervous man with a thick British accent who always flinched when someone would raise their voice just slightly. Not the typical kind of guy you would expect to be working for the mob.

»Bingo.«

 

**-End of Chapter 9-**


	10. Chapter 10

He knew that he shouldn't trust Edward. There was always the possibility that Ed was not telling the truth. It was Edward, after all. Stabbing other people in the back was kind of his thing. They were playing a very dangerous game. Ed’s kisses were like cocaine and he was an addict. And yet he had to remind himself again and again that Ed might be using him or playing on his emotions. Now that he came back to his true self again, now that he was no longer burdened with the old morals of his looser-self, there was no reason for him to stay in Arkham. What if he was just trying to use him to get out? Then again, it wasn’t as if Oswald had any means to escape or any knowledge of why he was here in the first place except for what Dr. Santoro had told him over and over again.

And how was supposed to get a grip and distance himself from Edward when his lips felt so good on his skin?

»Wait« He gasped. It was dark inside the janitor's closet but not so dark that he wouldn't be able to see him clearly. Outside of the door, they were hiding behind people were walking up and down the hallway, ignorant of the fact that they had snuck into the closet. »Wait, Ed … We can’t - Not here.«

»You are too anxious.«

»I just-«

»You are worried that Jerome finds out.« It almost sounded like an accusation. Ed’s teeth, as they sunk into his neck, spoke a different language though.

»Aren't you?«

»About that ginger freak?« He could feel Ed’s grin against his skin. A shudder ran through his entire body at that. »No. And you shouldn't either. You are mine now, after all.«

Oh God, how long had he been longing to hear those words? How many nights had he spent in vain, imagining Edward to kiss his neck like this, imagining Edward’s hands all over his body, imagining Edward saying stuff like this - maybe even declaring his love for him? While Edward had been out and about shagging that librarian, he had spent lonely nights in his grant bed, jerking himself off to whatever image he could conjure up in his mind.

»He can't know that…« He breathed into the darkness of the broom closet.

»I know. That's half the fun!«

Was it though? Hell, Edward was certainly not the only one who loved a bit of a thrill but Ed was still very clearly underestimating Jerome. It was not that Jerome would get jealous. He was possessive and he did not like it if someone stole from him. And that was exactly what Edward was doing in Jerome’s mind right now. He was just one of Jerome Valeska’s many toys in this facility and Jerome was no one who shared his toys with the other kids.

There was a part of him that wanted to tell Edward that he loved him, to assure him that he did not need to be jealous. He stopped himself from actually saying it. Deep down he knew that Ed’s jealousy was grounded in the desire to lay claim on him and not play second fiddle to anyone at all. This was not about Oswald or any kind of deep-seated feelings that Ed might be harboring for him. Hell, he was not nearly naive enough to believe that even for a second. As soon as they would be out of Arkham one sunny day, Edward would go back trying to kill him.

The truth was that he wouldn't have imagined that this would go on for as long as it had. He would have thought that Ed would have enough of him after he had had him once but instead, he seemed insatiable.

»Do you think Lee will come back?« Oswald groaned as Ed’s lips went lower and lower until Ed had to open up the button of his collar to actually move further down - not that Oswald held any objections.

»She will - and very soon too.« Ed muttered against the thin layer of skin that was stretching over his clavicle before he pressed his mouth back to it, sucking at it until it would almost leave a mark. The moan he drew from Oswald in the process was barely muffled by the hand Oswald pressed against his mouth.

He didn't question how he could be so certain of that. Ed had his ways. He knew certain things and he knew how to manipulate people - which was exactly the reason why he needed to keep on his toes around Edward who knew all too well just how much of a pull he had on Oswald. He loved him desperately - perhaps even more now that he knew what it felt like to have him so completely and what it felt like to be so completely owned by this man. Edward knew how he felt for him and Oswald knew that it was not beyond him to not use it against Oswald. He remembered how they had once been at each other’s throats, barely held back by the iron bars of bird cages.

_You are here because what? I didn't love you back? Get over it._

Remembering those words and his cruel tone of voice was still driving daggers in his heart. The truth was, Edward had enjoyed using his feelings against him. From the moment he had learned about the true nature of the feelings Oswald harbored for them, he had used them as a weapon. The man he loved, the man who had once warned him that his mother had been his greatest weakness, had used his greatest weakness, his heart, against him like a deadly blade. He would do so again. He knew that Edward would do so again. And yet, he was melting in Ed’s hands, starved for any kind of positive human interaction, starved for attention and human touch. He was desperate to feel like someone desired him truly and not only used him as a hole to stick their dick in - even desperate enough to swallow his own pride. Then again, swallowing his pride came naturally to him. He was a quivering moaning mess by the time Ed sunk to his knees and took him in his mouth with no hesitation or regard for the terrible unkempt state he was in.

To Ed, it did not seem to matter if he smelled bad or if his uniform was dirty and his hair a greasy mess that looked as if birds were nesting in it. Ed had always been a little weird. There had been a time when he had thought the other man might be attracted to him even. There had been a time, back at Edward’s apartment, when the taller man had looked at him as if he was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen, a time when he had not seen all the physical flaws Oswald had. In truth, Oswald may have had a chance back then but had been too preoccupied with Galavan, his grief,  and his feelings for Jim.

He clamped his hands over his mouth to muffle the desperate moans Edward forced out of his throat with his skilled tongue, his teeth barely scraping over silken flesh. It would be so easy for them to get caught by the nurses or the janitor or even the other patients. There was no denying, though, that the thrill of the ever-present looming danger was only adding fuel to the fire that was raging inside of him. Weirdly enough, Ed seemed always more interested in getting him off than himself as if he could read all the ugly marks left on his soul by other men and was headset on making up for them now.

It was probably the drugs that made him think stuff like this. These days, he tried his best to avoid taking them but it seemed impossible to always get away with it. Certainly, Dr. Santoro was already suspecting something. Oswald had already exhausted every trick in his book when it came to acting as docile as possible. That was, after all, what Santoro was expecting him to appear like. He was using Strange’s methods against him to break him. If it was true what Ed had told and he had maybe faked his death … This man would be free to do whatever he wanted to him. Whatever sick experiments he could possibly think of would be fair game because no one would miss him if he would never come back out of Arkham again.  

And Edward was in just as much danger. He was, through no fault of his own, just as vulnerable as Oswald was now. Edward was his umbilical cord to the outside world - the only person who knew that he was supposed to be dead and who could tell the truth. Unless he wouldn't be able, to tell the truth any longer. The closer they would appear to the doctors and nurses, the bigger the danger for Edward would be from those who wanted to hurt Oswald.

And still, Edward was making it impossible for him to keep his thoughts untangled and straight. He could only focus on Edward’s hot mouth around his member, on the way he expertly sucked and dragged his tongue against the underside of his cock. The drugs he still needed to take, the environment and the torture he was subjected to, made it impossible for Oswald to keep it up for too long and as he came hard in Ed’s mouth, he felt almost as if he was dying.

»I’m glad I could be of some assistance.« Ed smirked as he straightened out his back. Oswald left it to him to be tucked back inside his pants before Ed actually leaned in to kiss him and allowed Oswald thus to taste himself on his tongue.

 _Don't let your guard down_ , a voice in the back of his mind warned him dutifully. His mind was still sluggish these days. Not only the drugs were making it hard for him to focus his mind. It would be so easy to just fall for what Ed was doing to him in his current predicament, to allow himself to relax and allow himself to enjoy all of this. And yet, the fear that Edward would stab him in the back still prevailed.

Staying away from Edward throughout most of the day was easy when Oswald would be stuck in his therapy sessions but it was torture when he would sit in the rec room or the mess hall and be surrounded by Jerome and his goons - when all he wanted to do was walk over to Ed, sit down with him and just talk. They used to talk endless hours in front of the stone fireplace in his living room in a different life. He could mostly only watch him from afar as he was reading one book after the other. Only rarely could they sneak away from it all and steal a handful of moments alone - like this one.

In the back of his mind, he was always wondering what Edward was feeling when he would see him sit with Jerome or witness Jerome touching him. Was there even a hint of jealousy inside of him? No matter what it was - those stolen moments were still the highlights of his days in the nightmarish wonderland that was Arkham Asylum. Those moments were what gave him the strength he needed to actually get through his days when hours and days blended together into an indistinguishable mush. Sometimes, he would lose entire days to the maelstrom of confusion inside of his head. Sometimes, he would blink only to find he had teleported from one place to another, only to find himself sitting next to Jerome Valeska.

»You seem different.« Jerome grinned, his voice like the hiss of a viper ready to strike as he put his arm around his shoulders and squeezed. How did he get here? Had he been shuffling through the hallways like a mindless zombie? He remembered the morning, he remembered Edward pulling him into that janitor’s closet as no one had been watching. He remembered leaving shortly after Ed. He remembered walking to Dr. Santoro’s office with a heavy heart. He didn't remember what happened after that. He didn't remember how he got here. »You seem changed, my dear friend.«

»I’m afraid I don't know what you mean.« Oswald replied as swiftly as he possibly could and although everything inside of him was itching to punch him square in the face, he forced a smile as he looked at the man who offered him protection - or rather, who held back his own goons so that they wouldn't attack him. At this point, now that his head was starting to get a little clearer again in three of five days, he grew more and more aware that it had probably been Jerome who had sent Skinny Pete and his buddies after him all those weeks ago.

It would befit his modus operandi that he had shown this far inside of Arkham. Jerome was very much a puppet master and all those other patients, including Oswald, the puppets dancing on his strings. And Oswald … He had been the ideal prey for a man like him, he supposed. When Pete had attacked him, he had already been broken down by the therapy and drugs and whatever had happened to him before Arkham - the hollow shell of a man. He had been fearful and weak and that was when Jerome had struck.

And he better appear to still be fearful and weak. There was no way of telling what Jerome might do if he would realize that Oswald was slowly getting back in charge of his mental faculties - even though it was so unnerving to him that he still didn't know what had happened to him and how he ended up at this place.

»Oh, but I think you do.« Jerome grinned and threw a pointed look at the corner of the mess hall where Edward was sitting and currently stabbing at his food with his fork. He didn't seem pleased with lunch today. Or was it dinner? _Who cares? It all tastes the same anyway._ »It's because of loverboy over there, huh? An old flame rekindled?«

»No.« The answer came too quickly. He knew that.

»Not that I would be jealous.« Jerome carried on seemingly carefree and completely unbothered even though they both knew that this couldn't be farther from the truth. »I just wondered if it wouldn't be nice to include him in our little family of freaks - What do you think? He could be a great ally out there.«

»He is too … unstable.« Oswald muttered and lowered his gaze on his lunch. No, definitely dinner. Spaghetti with meatballs. Someone had eaten half of it. He didn't feel hungry.  »You can never trust him.«

»Ah, that's just your broken heart whining again.« Jerome chuckled as he patted his shoulder. »I’m sure we will all be very good friends.«

※※※※※※※

By now their conspiratorial meetings in Harvey's bar felt more or less like secret club meetings. It felt like being back in his childhood treehouse with the sign ‘No girls allowed’ outside. The only difference now was that Lee was very much a girl and still part of their almost-all-boys-club. Elementary school Jim would have had none of this! Well, perhaps he would have allowed Lee in his treehouse if he would have had a crush on her back then. He probably would have had a crush on her. Well, Grandma Gordon once cleverly remarked that he might as well throw that sign in the garbage for all the girls he allowed inside on a monthly basis to the annoyance of his friends. A new month, a new crush, a new intruder to the sacred treehouse, new heartbreak. Come to think of it, not much had changed since then.

»I got in contact with our pal, Victor.« Harvey droned on over a glass of scotch. »He gave me the address of where we can find the boy. He is safe for now. But it's only a question of when Sophia will have enough of keeping it that way. He said that Sophia wouldn't hesitate to kill the boy at one point. Honestly, I am surprised she hasn't already gotten rid of him.«

»So we better act quick.« Jim muttered and not just because of the looming danger for that poor child. He didn't want to imagine just how afraid this kid was or how traumatic this entire situation had to be. For such a young child, he had experienced far too much shit already. Being the hostage of a killer pig was only the tip of the iceberg as it seemed. No wonder Oswald had taken to the boy so quickly.  »But before we get the boy we need to form a proper plan of action. The moment Sophia will learn that the boy is free, she will know what's going on.«

»And then she might actually send someone after you.« Lee remarked with furrowed brows. Was this worry he heard in her voice?

»Except if she believes that someone else was behind it.«

»Like?« Harvey asked, his eyebrows almost disappearing in his hairline.

»Oswald.« Lee cut in. »But she thinks he’s dead and as long as she thinks that, Oswald is safe inside Arkham. Maybe we should keep it that way.«

»Yes.« Jim nodded. Of course, as long as Sophia wouldn't know that the kingpin was alive, he would be relatively safe inside the asylum. And yet, the worry was gnawing on Jim’s consciousness every night when he tried to fall asleep, rolling over in his bed again and again until giving up and drinking himself into a stupor instead. Lee’s words from a few days ago had him worried. If it was true that Oswald’s brain betrayed him a little, he might be easy prey to all those lunatics inside Arkham. Of course, he could get rid of his Penguin problem once and for all in letting him rot there but his morals didn't allow it. He and Oswald had struck a deal, he had made a promise. Jim Gordon had to admit that he not always honored those promises or deals in the past. Perhaps that was just how he got to this point of no return. Perhaps it was time to change that. »Maybe it's time then that she learns the truth.«

»So that she's going after Oswald and is distracted from your involvement so that you can make a move? But what's with Oswald then?« Harvey frowned.

»He will need to escape from Arkham.«

»He won’t be able to escape on his own, though.« Lee sighed. »Listen, boys, as much as I enjoy our little conspiracies lately, I need to get going and I need you guys to have a proper plan when I'll be back here tomorrow.« Lee sighed and got back to her feet at once.

»Hot date?« Harvey chuckled.

»The only hot date I care for, is you, Harv.« Lee huffed before she leaned over the counter and gave him a kiss to the cheek. Lee had always liked Harvey and wouldn't have Jim fucked it all up, Lee, Harvey, Scottie and he might have an actual deep friendship going on with each other. Lee would have insisted on double dates again and it wouldn't have sucked. »No, I was invited by my ex-sister in law. As much as I hate that bitch, I cannot reject her invitation, right? Better play it safe and keep her close. Maybe I can even find out a thing or two.«

He didn't like the idea and Lee could probably tell by the way she was looking at him now. Neither one of them said anything, however. A very awkward little moment passed before Lee cleared her throat again. »I hate to say it, boys, but we know who is inside of Arkham as well and might be able to help Oswald escape. Just give it a thought.«

※※※※※※※

The second time he met Leslie inside the visitation room was no less awkward than the first - although he was under the impression that it was actually worse for her than it was for him. He could almost smell the deep level of discomfort she was in. It was like the thick sweet smell of a decomposing body that had been left to rot during a heatwave inside their home - a scent that would never quite vanish out of the clothes no matter how often one would wash them. In the end, all that was left to do was to throw them away.

»I am surprised to see you here again.« He grinned before his eyes fell on her left hand. It was covered in thickly wrapped bandages, only her fingertips sticking out. »Oh no, what happened there?

Of course, he wasn't surprised at all. After all, it was just so easy to read most people and Lee Thompkins was no exception to that rule - no matter how smart she thought she was. The moment he had told her about Jim’s involvement, he had known that she would be back. She had acted all cool and unbothered but Edward knew that she was still hopelessly infatuated with Jim and much too curious to let it go.

»Sophia Falcone smashed it with a hammer and gave the leadership over the Narrows to Samson.« She said as if all of this meant nothing but Ed could see the anger boiling deep down inside of her. Interesting. Was this why she was actually here now? Was it her thirst for revenge driving her to actually help? »And no, you're not.« Lee replied dryly with a roll of her eyes. »You know I would be back.«

»See? That why I like you!« Ed laughed and his voice echoed from the empty walls around them. »So, what did you bring me today? A cake? Toys? Maybe flowers or a stuffed bear? Or something more juicy?«

Lee pinched her lips in a way that told him quite clearly that she would rather not tell him what she had learned. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she had actually gone to Jim and talked to him after her last visit. It was only a couple of days ago that he had seen her, actually, but she seemed a little changed now - and not only because of her mangled left hand. In the end, she opted for actually talking to him. To get out of here if anything.

»You can tell our mutual friend that his fledgling is in relatively safe hands.« Her choice of words actually made him smirk but that smirk was wiped away almost instantly again. »Why do you even care, Ed? The last time you had anything to do with Oswald, you wanted him dead.«

»Well, now I don't.«

»Why?«

»People change their opinion about other people, Lee.« He shrugged. »He is a good ally. Did you really think someone like me would forever stay at the Narrows and not thrive for something greater? Oswald is the perfect ally for me if I truly want to become someone in this city. Someone the people will fear.« Someone the people of Gotham wouldn't want to mess with. He was tired of being that bumbling freak Ed Nygma - the butt of everyone’s joke at the GCPD.

»But that is not the reason, Ed. You might fool him or yourself even - but not me.« Lee’s gaze was unwavering.

»Is that so?« His grin grew wider as he leaned forward on the table between them a bit more and thus almost invaded her personal space a little. This time, much unlike last time, she didn't lean away. She wasn’t scared of him. »You have my attention, Lee. Do tell me why you think to know me so well?«

»I am your friend, Ed.« She sighed. »And I was your friend a long time ago. I know that you are not that guy you want to show the world. You are not the Riddler - this agent of chaos. Deep down you are a good guy, a compassionate guy who has been dealt a bad hand but you can change, Ed. You can get help in here and come out of this stronger, redeem yourself, maybe start working for the GCPD again.«

He didn't mean to be rude as he laughed but certainly, it came out this way. Lee seemed frustrated by his laugh as he leaned back in his chair. »Lee, I hate to break it to you but what you see right here is what you get. That's who I am deep down inside. That's who I have always been deep down inside. The Ed you knew back in the day was nothing but a facade, a desperate attempt of appearing normal and have a normal life. A white picket fence, 2.5 children and a dog. It was just a matter of time until the real me would come out. It was inevitable.«

»You love him, don't you?« Lee suddenly cut him off. He felt his smile froze on his face. »That's why you do all of this. You love him.«

»No.« He replied almost automatically, albeit a bit tight-lipped. »He just promises a way to get out of here unscathed and his gratitude for my help will, in turn, help me to regain the power I once held over this city.«

»Come on, Ed.« Lee sighed. »You loved him for a long time. Stop trying to fool me - or yourself. That's just sad at this point. You had a full-blown mental breakdown when you learned of his death.«

»Thats-«

»Because you love him. And hey no shame. I get it. You are perfect for each other, actually. So why deny it?« It didn't exactly sound like a compliment the way she framed it.

»Are you here to give me advice for my love life now or do you bring me the information that I need?«

For a long moment, Lee just stared at him with something that could only be described as pity in her eyes. It had always frustrated him to no end when people would look at him with pity. There was nothing about him that would prompt that! There was nothing pitiful about him! At last, with a sigh, Lee finally started speaking again. And, finally, she gave him what he had wanted to hear from the get-go.

The story she told him was almost too crazy to be true. Because if all of that was indeed true, it was a miracle that Oswald was not even more messed up than he was at the moment and, as he walked out of the visitation room, he felt deep sympathy for his former enemy. He remembered how hard it had been for him when he had been woken up from the ice. How long it had taken him to regain a little bit control over himself again after all of this. Oswald was experiencing a very similar thing now. He was probably just as afraid as he had been back in the day.

The plan that he had conjured up with James Gordon, of all people, had made Oswald fall prey to the vilest creature Edward Nygma had ever seen in his life.

At this point, whenever Jerome would be in the same room as Oswald and Edward, it was almost as if he was making a point in getting uncomfortably close to Oswald, putting his arm around the smaller man, pulling him close, showing to the world - but especially Edward - that he lay claim on the former kingpin of the underworld. He was probably getting off on the fact that he had such a powerful man as Oswald at his command.

Oswald and he had not talked about their relationship until now and, to be perfectly honest, Edward dreaded the moment they would. What they had right now was easy and comfortable. Whenever they would get a chance, they would sneak away together. Finding places to have sex was hard enough inside this facility without the same power Jerome seemed to possess. Jerome Valeska could bend Oswald over the table in the mess hall and not one single nurse or guard would say or do something but whenever Ed and Oswald would just sit together they were sure to be split up in a matter of minutes.

Dr. Whitman was still of the opinion that the friendship he had with Oswald was not very beneficial to his recovery. Well, even a buffoon as he surely had noticed how much he had changed since this little fling he had with the smaller man had started - and certainly not in the same way the good doctor wanted to see him change.

By now he was quite tired of talking about his parents and where his illness might come from. He wasn’t ill. That was what people didn't seem to understand about him. He had been ill when he had been Ed Nygma, forensic scientist at the GCPD. He had been ill when he had still been Eddie Nashton, living in a small town just outside of Gotham with an alcoholic abusive father and a schizophrenic mother who once tried to kill him before his father had finally killed her. He had been ill when he had been forced to take pills like candy to calm him down because his doctors had diagnosed him with ADHD or autism or whatever fancy word they could come up with on that special day.

Now, however, he was free and that was what scared people.

Everyone he knew, even Lee Thompkins, was afraid of Edward using his full potential, of Edward being himself. The only person who was not afraid of the real him was Oswald. It had always been Oswald. And despite knowing what he knew now, he found himself back inside the office of his doctor again and again. It was like a nightmare on a loop.

»You had a visitor today, I heard.« Dr. Whitman spoke up after silence had settled over them for a few precious seconds. The slurping sound as Dr. Whitman took a sip from his coffee was grinding on his nerves. He needed to get out of this hellhole and quick too if he really wanted to keep at least parts of his sanity intact. »Tell me about it.«

»There is not much to tell you about.« Ed shrugged. »She is a friend - or so I thought. We worked together a long time ago when I was still an employee of the GCPD and a model citizen of our wonderful city.«

Dr. Whitman gave a small hum and just as quickly as he had caught the threat of talking about Lee Thompkins, was he letting go of it to latch onto something else. »A model citizen indeed.« He started thoughtfully. »Mr. Nygma, I have to tell you that I am fascinated by your case. A forensic scientist fallen from grace, locked up in Arkham for murder, released and then turning the right-hand man of the mayor before becoming a feared villain. But before all that you were Edward Nashton, a small town boy. Tell me about that. Why this change? Why did you move to Gotham and change your name?«

»You know, Doctor, it was the inevitable step.« He chuckled. »It was either burying Eddie Nashton and escaping a town like my hometown or becoming, sooner or later, a complete psychopath who would go on a rampage in the cannery. In my hometown, there was no future for me, no prospects. I would have graduated from high school and my dad would have forced me to work in the cannery like he did and that would be it. I would have stayed on the medication that was dulling my brain and turning it into mush and someday I would have snapped. I suppose I did snap when I killed Kristen Kringle and her violent boyfriend too. I suppose it was inevitable.« He had been set on a straight path to damnation from the day he was born with only the illusion of change or choice.

»Do you regret killing those people?«

»I regret killing Kristen, in a way.« He shrugged. »And yet I am very grateful for her sacrifice. Without it, I would have never realized what I am capable of. I would have been stuck where I was back then. Dougherty, on the other hand … I would kill that bastard again if given the chance. You know, Dr. Whitman« he leaned forward with a grin on his face that seemed to unnerve the older man. »people might think or say what they want about me. Call me a psychopath all they want. But out there are worse people than I and Dougherty was one of those. He was an abusive asshole who got off on hitting a woman. But people like him … They never end up in Blackgate or Arkham Asylum. They are allowed to roam the streets of Gotham freely. He was a cop, for God’s sake. Even if Kristen would have ever been brave enough to file a report against him, he would have gotten off scot-free.«

»Did Officer Dougherty remind you of your own father?« Dr. Whitman asked and pried a small, humorless laugh from his throat.

»Bravo, Doctor.« He gave a mock applause at that. »You finally figured it out, huh? Yes, he did remind me of my father. As did Detective Flass, another one of Kristen's ex-boyfriends. She was the same type of girl my mother was. She was drawn to people like them, to the darkness within. I believe she was drawn to the darkness within me as well. In the end, that cost her her life, sadly.«

»And the same happened to your mother?«

»I told you before that mental illness runs in my family.« Ed smirked. »My father was no exception to that rule. I think I was fucked right from the moment of conception as two lunatics decided it would be a good idea to bring another life into this world. But yes, it was my mother's doom that she, just like Kristen, was drawn in by my father's darkness.«

And just like Kristen, his mother had been a beautiful small town girl with fiery red hair and the sweetest smile he had ever seen. He knew now what he had been unwilling to see back then. He had desired Kristen because she had reminded him of his mother, reminded him of a more simple time in his life and the illusion of choice.

»He had always been violent to her, even before the wedding. And he had always been violent to me. But one day he just snapped. He beat her up so badly that she couldn't even scream anymore before she had her _accident_. My father was friends with cops - the same kind of cops like Arnold Flass and Tom Dougherty. My mother's official cause of death was a fall from the staircase in our house. But I was there, Doc. I saw it all. Yet, who would have believed a ten-year-old who was high as a kite most of the time because doctors like you kept forcing pills down my throat for _illnesses_ that I didn't have?«

The way he leaned away from Edward and further into his chair told Ed all he needed to know about how much discomfort that poor man experience at this moment. He just wanted out of this conversation, away from Edward and Ed himself relished in this knowledge.

»What do you feel now, years later, when you think about your father, Edward?«

He didn't really want to know. He wasn't ready to hear a true answer to that and yet, Ed felt no inclination to hold back. He asked the questions so he should better prepare to get a proper answer. »I feel the urge to drive to my hometown, go to the cannery, and throw him into one of the machines.« He replied with a smile. »And then I would drive to the house and set it aflame with everything that's inside of it. That's what I feel when I think about my father, Doc.«

After this, Dr. Whitman had ended their little session quite hastily. Ed would have expected him to have heard a lot worse than what he had told him but apparently, the poor doctor was unnerved by him more than by his other patients. He was just a sheep, after all. Just another person who seemed utterly afraid of the real Ed Nygma. And that was it, wasn't it? Dr. Whitman had finally realized that this was the real Edward Nygma he had been talking to just now. This was not the illness speaking, this was who Ed was and there was no changing that. And that was what scared the man. No matter how often he would torture him with electroshock therapy or force drugs down his throat, he would never be able to change his core. The real Ed Nygma would always lurk underneath the surface, ready to strike.

For the rest of the day, Ed didn't get the chance to talk to Oswald again. Every time he saw him, Jerome was hovering close by. Watching that ginger freak being so close with Oswald made bile rise in his throat. He wasn't jealous. After all, Oswald and he were just conspirators who occasionally fucked. No, this wasn't about jealousy. It was the same thing he felt when he had seen the bruises on Kristen years ago.

He just felt disgust and anger towards the clown prince of Arkham Asylum. He wanted him dead for forcing Oswald into all of this. He wanted to cut off the hands that he used to grope Oswald. He wanted to free Oswald from his control because the smaller man couldn't do it himself. He wasn't equipped to do it himself - not right now and not in the state he was being kept in. The drugs he still had to take didn't make it any easier for Oswald to recover from the damage done to him by Ivy’s experimental drug, even though Oswald tried to avoid taking his medication for a few days now.

In the end, they would always find a way to force them down his throat.

His own medication made him loopy as he later lied in his bed and stared at the white ceiling. His bed felt oddly empty without Oswald by his side. He didn't like this thought. He had no right to think something like this. Still, he craved his presence beside him. He craved feeling his soft skin under his fingertips. He craved the soft moans only he was able to pull out of the infamous Penguin. Oswald was supposed to be his. Back when this unfortunate event with Isabella happened, he hadn't been able to see it, too blinded by anger, but even then Oswald had been supposed to be his.

He thought about what Lee had told him and squeezed his eyes shut at the memory. _You do love him, don't you?_ The fact of the matter was that he didn't even know what he felt for the other man. He knew only that, in a strange way, he felt completed when Oswald was close. They were two puzzle pieces that were meant to fit together perfectly.

Oswald's sharp mind and wit kept him on his toes, kept his own mind sharp. Oswald’s mind was the whetstone for his own intellect. It had always been like this. He was better with him. Without him he just strolled around aimlessly, committing petty little crimes no one cared about. With Oswald by his side, he was meant for greatness.

In a way, he thought, perhaps this was, indeed, love.

As he was shaken awake by someone grabbing his legs and arms, the night hung low over Arkham. He could only see the light from the hallway casting out the shadows of his cell as two men were leaning over him and then, just like this, darkness again.

 

**-End of Chapter 10-**


	11. Chapter 11

It certainly was not the first time that he was being dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night by Jerome Valeska. Of course, Jerome could do what he wanted and go where he wanted all the time. He was the king of Arkham Asylum, after all. He held all the keys. His first reaction was to lash out at the clown prince of Arkham Asylum as he was ripped from his sleep and out of his bed, startling him awake at once.

Before he came back to his senses and realized what was going on - before he remembered how he usually ought to behave around the other man - his left foot connected with Jerome’s stomach. Jerome seemed uncharacteristically unbothered by the kick as he continued to drag Oswald out of his cell and down the hallway, not giving him so much as a chuckle in response to his panic.

»Relax!« Jerome grinned in the dimmed lights of the hallway. »I am glad to see that you still have that little bit of fight in you I’ve heard so much about, Baby. But now is not the time! We have a date with your boyfriend first!«

His blood ran cold all at once at those words, freezing in his veins. Edward. What did Jerome do to Edward? What would he do to him? Fear held his heart in a tight grip. _No_ , he reminded himself. He could not allow Jerome to have such power over him! He was Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot! He was the terror of Gotham! He was the one who pushed Fish Mooney off a rooftop and beaten the old order one by one! He had risen from ashes again and again! _This clown will not beat me down!_

No matter what he would do to Edward.

True was also that Jerome Valeska scared the living crap out of him. He had urged Edward to be careful! He had told Edward that he could not risk Jerome to find out about them! But … had he found out? Or was it just Jerome doing his usual spiel to terrorize him? Was this just another one of his god-awful games?

»Where are we going?« Oswald managed to breathe out as he stumbled down the hall. Forcing the terror out of his voice and his breathing to even out was harder than anything he had ever done, for he knew that, even if he would succeed in calming down, Jerome already knew what kind of effect he had on Oswald.

»You wouldn't want to ruin the surprise now, would you?« The glee Jerome felt was almost unbearable as it was dripping from his voice like acid, melting away every last bit of resistance Oswald might have put up. When he was like this, it usually ended in bloodshed. »We are going to have so much fun tonight, Sweetheart!«

Biting the inside of his left cheek, Oswald swallowed the groan that wanted to escape his throat. He resisted the urge to lash out on Jerome again and instead gave into his fate. What else was there to do for him now? He was weaker than Jerome. The drugs made him loopy and sluggish. They reached the mess hall within just a few moments of navigating through the maze of hallways. Of course, suddenly the hallways were devoid of any nurses or armed guards by some miracle.

Conveniently, Arkham was understaffed tonight and those who were here, were busy playing cards in the staff rooms just when their patients - namely Oswald - needed them the most. Not that any of the nurses or guards would care too much. Most of them were hardly any better than the criminals they were sworn to take care of. How had Jerome so much power over them? He was long enough inside this looney bin to know the staff was like puppets dancing on Jerome's strings. Even without money or real power in terms of weapons or henchmen outside, everyone was doing what Jerome wanted them to do and nothing less. They were his loyal army.

The mess hall was filled with Jerome's usual screaming followers and cheerleaders. They were occupying every surface except for two of Jerome’s stronger henchmen who kept guard near the door. Only then, after they entered the room, pushed Jerome him in further, making him stumble and lose his footing at the attack. Roaring laughter greeted him as he slammed into the ground. Instead of clambering back to his feet right away, however, Oswald knew that it would be much wiser to stay down on his knees.

»Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy…« Jerome crooned with that god-awful menacing grin that always made him freeze. »You see the reason why we and all our friends are here now is you, Baby. You know, there comes a time in every man’s life when he reaches a crossroads and has to decide which road to take, right?« There were cheers of agreement coming from the ranks of Jerome’s followers as the clown was now openly addressing them before focussing his attention back on Oswald. »And in my case, Ozzy-bear, that time is now.«

His world turned upside down at once. Waves of nausea crashing together above his head, drowning him in icy waters, as he grew aware of the sounds of shuffling footsteps coming down the hall and a muffled voice giving sounds of distress before two more of Jerome’s goons approached mess hall, dragging another man with them, a sack over his head.

Edward.

He would recognize his voice under a thousand, muffled through a sack or not. Ed was cursing under his breath, trying to wiggle free even - with not much success at all. His hands were tied loosely behind his back.

»You know, I don't really like to play second-fiddle - I blame my mother for that, in all honesty.« He gained himself another round of laughter from his followers. »But that's not the reason why we have this little party right now. I am usually not the jealous type. You bang whoever you want to bang, Honey. See it more like a test of your loyalty. By all means, fuck this beanpole all you want but I need to know that you are still loyal to me first and foremost, right? After all, I have big plans for our relationship going forward. So much to do together.«

»I am loyal!« The words came out by instinct. There was not even a second to catch his thoughts. »I am loyal to you!«

»Are you though?« Jerome hummed. »I mean if I would tell you to strip down naked right now in front of everyone would you do that and trust that I don’t harm you?«

»I would!«

»And would you blow me right now right here in front of everyone?«

He felt bile rising in his throat as Jerome held him down, his fingers digging into his hair. He would never put it past that bastard to actually ask him to do just that. »I would!«

»And would you slit your loverboy’s throat if I would ask you to?« _No_. No, no, no, no, no, he wouldn't. He wouldn't slit Ed’s throat. He wouldn't do harm to him. He couldn't stand the thought. In spite of everything they had gone through, all the betrayal and heartbreak, he had never been able to stand the thought of Edward being hurt in any way at all. »Well, would you, Darling?«

His eyes flickered from Jerome to Ed and he knew that it was a mistake right away.

»I take that as a no.« Jerome grinned. »So let me give you a different scenario then - to make it easier on you. Let's call it a change of perspective, right?« He just snapped his fingers and his goons dragged Edward towards an empty table before manhandling him on top. There was a noose hanging from the ceiling right above the table which he hadn't even seen until this moment. Within seconds, despite Ed’s best attempts of freeing himself, one of the men had put the noose around his neck.

»Maybe my question was a little too abstract for you.« He grinned. »So let me put it into context now. I am going to ask you a question and I want an answer - an honest answer. If you don't give me one or if your answer doesn't satisfy me, my friends give your buddy a little shove and - Well, I guess you can imagine the rest, right? Let's call this the sudden death round.«

»Jerome … You really don't need to do that!« Oswald tried to reassure him quickly but he could see it in his eyes that this was futile. »I am loyal to you, I assure you that I am loyal to you - only you and I am helping you with your plan! I admit that Edward’s arrival at Arkham brought a little confusion for me and maybe allowed old feelings that I harbored for him a long time to resurface but-«

»Yes … Less blah-blah, okay, Sweetheart?« Jerome huffed with a roll of his eyes. »You see, Ozzy-poo, ramblings like those are the exact reason why I cannot trust you any longer! All this fancy-schmancy talk of yours and yet you are not saying anything, Baby! I liked that fumbling-bumbling you a lot more - the you that was high as a kite and forgot your name almost every day. You were so easy to be swayed then - but since loverboy over there came back into the picture … Well, you have become quite bitchy, recently. I mean, did you forget our arrangement? I protect you from the bad dudes and you go down on your knees for me when I ask you to. So, Ozzy, back to the question at hand. Shall we give our friend Eddie over there a nice little shove or do you want him to live?«

He knew that no matter what he would say, Jerome would do the opposite. He knew it. This psychopath knew already that he still loved Edward and that he couldn't bear the thought of him getting hurt. There was no right answer to give.

»Please … I am loyal.« He begged once more.

»If that's the case - you won’t need our dear friend Eddie anymore, right?« He snapped his fingers once more and turned away from Oswald at once. »You heard the man, boys, do us all a favor and give our friend over there a push and then lobotomize the little bird.«

»No!« He was back on his feet in a second. »No! No! Remember how you said this prison was all in my mind?« Even to his own ears, he sounded frantic but the sounds of distress coming from beneath the sack on Ed’s head were driving him insane. In the end, however, it did the trick as Jerome slowly turned back around to him, his hands fiddling idly with his white suspenders. »Maybe I’m in the prison right now! A prison where _you_ can't get to me!«

It was almost a bit humiliating as he started his little act but at the very least it distracted Jerome and his goons from Ed for the moment. He dug up all the memories he had of mimes from his youth and swallowed his endless hatred for those painted freaks as he raised his hands in front of him, the palms flat against an invisible surface right before his face as he touched along the invisible wall of his prison cell. Behind him, a few of the other patients actually giggled at the spectacle, entranced by the show as Oswald found a barred up window, grabbed the bars and waved at Jerome with the brightest smile he could possibly muster right now.

Jerome might be a complete psychopath but his eyes betrayed him. In many ways, he was like a child with a very limited attention span. He fell for Oswald’s little show immediately, his brown eyes lighting up and his creepy smile widening before he actually gave a little chuckle only to be handed some sort of self-made spear from one of his followers. It was just a sharp piece of metal taped with masking tape to a broken off broom stick but it would do the job just fine if Oswald had miscalculated the situation and underestimated Jerome.

»Okay.« He muttered with a smile. »I wanted to let you live, actually. A drooling, empty half-life like our dear friend Dietrich, but still.« He continued as he tested the pointy end of his self made spear dutifully. Oswald’s heart hammered in his chest. This was a gamble, of course. There was no way of telling what Jerome would do, in the end. He would either play along or stab him and then kill Edward. »You really are nuts!«

Oswald kept his smile even though his entire body was trembling in sheer panic as Jerome went into the attack - only to have his spear hit an invisible wall. He was playing along. Hallelujah. If he would ever get out of here alive, Oswald promised himself to light some candles in a church somewhere for all the mimes he had misjudged as a child. Behind Jerome, the two guys who were supposed to take care of Ed were too distracted to actually notice Ed wiggle around a little on the table. Oswald, however, could clearly see how he was slowly wiggling out of his bindings behind his back while Jerome was hitting his spear against the invisible walls of his cell.

» _Clack! Clack-clack-clack!_ « He was a clown, after all, had grown up in a circus and was thus underlining every hit against the wall with a small annoying little sound.

Only after he had tried jumping over the wall of Oswald’s cell, was Oswald kind enough to point him in the direction of the door which was, unbeknownst to Jerome, barely big enough for Oswald to fit through. It helped to visualize that fake cell to keep the other man engaged.

Like a man on a mission, Jerome went to the door but promptly hit his head after Oswald opened it for him, beckoning him inside. He had an advantage over Jerome as the taller man finally made it into his invisible cell in a crouched little stand. At this moment, Oswald decided to finally strike against the man who had tormented him for weeks now. He quickly grabbed him by the shoulders and before Jerome even knew what was hitting him, he had smashed his right knee against his chin. The other inmates were howling with laughter as Oswald even closed the imaginary door again before kicking the shit out of the younger man.

The laughter that erupted from his own throat was alien to him but he felt like he did at the moment when he killed Grace all this time ago. He was free. He still didn't know how he got here in the first place but he was free. Jerome didn't have any power over him anymore - at least as long as Oswald would not allow him any power.

»Try laughing now you ginger snap!« He yelled as he finally ceased his assault. What happened next was what finally got the other patients into uproar too.

※※※※※※※

The thing with trusting in the abilities of lunatics was that they rarely did a very good job in properly tying someone up. Wiggling out of the bindings around his wrists had been easy enough as no one seemed to have paid him any attention over the spectacle that was taking place - whatever this spectacle was. And, just as Ed was finally able to rip off the bag from his head and blinked against the light, Jerome, who was lying on the ground all bloodied and beaten up, jolted into a sitting position with a shrill laugh. The image of a Jack-in-the-box came to mind.

»See? I told you I would cure you!« He laughed almost maniacally and seemed to have forgotten about Ed completely now. Oswald stood in front of the clown, panting and exhausted. »Come on one more!«

Oswald’s eyes met Edward’s and without a word he kicked Jerome straight in the face, knocking him out cold at once. Though a triumph, Ed knew right away that it had been a mistake. Because when their leader was unconscious, Jerome's followers jumped from their seats, ready for the attack if Oswald would not get away quickly. Before the two idiots that were supposed to guard him, would realize that he had freed himself, Ed quickly pulled the noose from his neck.

»Oswald!« Ed called out, knowing that this would even make his guards snap out of their trance as they had been watching what was going on with Jerome and Oswald - seemingly certain that their prisoner would not try to get free. Lunatics. All of them. Maybe even Ed himself.

He was quicker than both of them as he swiftly put the noose around the neck of the one closest to him and pushed him off the table. The fall was not long enough to snap his neck and just enough to make him dangle a few inches above the ground - enough to make him slowly strangle himself to death as Edward lunged at the other one.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Oswald running towards him before the other inmates could finally grab him. Ed made quick work of knocking out his second guard with one well-aimed punch straight to his jaw while the other was choking behind him. It was their luck that the two men standing guard at the door decided that it would be more important to help that poor guy who was hanging from the noose as they came over. By some miracle, they didn't pay Ed or Oswald any mind. This was their chance to escape. Ed didn't think as he jumped from the table and grabbed Oswald’s hand the moment he was close enough to pull him with him out of the mess hall.

Of course, his legs were longer than Oswald’s and even without his disability, he would have a hard time keeping up with him. Yet, Oswald was astoundingly quick. It was probably raw, unhinged fear fueling the smaller man. The sound of Oswald’s begging was still ringing in his ears. The moment he had been dragged out of his cell, he had known that this was Jerome’s way of taking revenge on Edward for stealing his little pet away. That ginger freak was just so petty.

Still, hearing Oswald actually beg Jerome, having his words echo in his head over and over again, sent chills down his spine.

There was no time to think as they ran down the hallway together, side by side. Oswald’s hand held onto his own just as fiercely as Edward held onto him as if he were just as afraid that the other patients would come after them and rip them away from each other. His heart was pounding as they rounded a corner. Oswald slipped on the linoleum floor and fell as he took the corner too quickly, adamant of keeping up with Ed. There was a part of Edward that wanted to leave him. Already the stomping sounds of thundering footsteps coming after them echoed through the building. A violent, raging mob that was out for their blood. Jerome’s army was hot on their trail, eager to avenge their leader. They would probably leave him alone - after all, Oswald had been the one knocking Jerome unconscious.

And yet, he bent down and helped Oswald back to his feet just as quickly as the smaller man had fallen. Rushing further down the hallway, he was aiming for the office of Dr. Whitman, the self-made lockpick that he had finally managed to craft only this morning from a few hairpins that he had stolen another inmate, safely in his pants pocket. Oswald only seemed to realize where they were heading as they were already almost there.

Only then did he let go of Oswald completely to fiddle with his makeshift lock pick, almost dropping it to the floor. Well, he prided himself on always being calm in the face of real danger, but the fidgeting was still there. No wonder when they were being pursued by a bloodthirsty mob of Arkham’s worst lunatics. A bunch of murderers, rapists, arsonists, and other psychos.

»You have a lock-pick?« Oswald gasped completely out of breath and threw a panicked look over his shoulder just as Ed inserted it into the lock.

»I made it today, actually.« Ed mumbled trying to focus on his work on the lock with his tongue between his lips. »It's not perfect - I didn't have enough time to perfect it.« And yet the lock clicked after what felt like an eternity. Just as they slipped into the office and closed the door silently, Ed could hear the other patients shooting after them. He locked the door behind them at once and prayed that those idiots had not seen them disappear into the office. If they would manage to break through the door they were done for. No escape. No way out. Ed pressed his ear to the door and listened but as the mob ran past the office, he let out a shaking breath.

»What the hell just happened?« Oswald huffed breathlessly as he slowly walked backward until his legs hit one of the luxurious armchairs Edward was usually privy to sit in. He sunk into the plush cushions right away and dug his fingers into the flesh of his right calf.

»You just beat the crap out of Jerome Valeska - that happened.« Edward replied with a grin. He couldn't hide the pride he felt at these words. For weeks, since Ed found him here, Oswald had been so confused, so out of it, so awfully brainwashed and afraid. Tonight, he had finally found the strength he still had inside of him and fought back. His knuckles were bloodied from where he had punched the much younger man and there were splatters of Jerome’s blood all over his striped jacket.

Still, just after the words left his mouth, Oswald was back on his feet and crossed the distance between them. Edward reacted on instinct as he wrapped his arms around the smaller man and pulled him into an all-consuming kiss that almost made his own knees buckle.

Oswald’s hands were suddenly all over him as he himself already ripped open Oswald’s jacket, thankful for the press-buttons on their clothes. Their kiss was all tongue and teeth, pulling and biting and pushing, a fight for dominance more than a kiss. Oswald allowed him to slowly shove him back towards the desk, pliable in Ed’s hands as they shed one article of clothing after another with ease.

He pushed him onto the desk, ignorant of the various items lying around uselessly. There was more than enough room for Oswald’s ass. His slim legs wrapped around Ed’s hips in an instant the moment he maneuvered between them. It was not nearly close enough as he finally let go of his lips and mouthed along his neck, biting and dragging his tongue along his jugular. He would never tire of the sounds he could draw from Oswald’s throat.

Oswald was like wax in his hands, his fingernails scraping over the naked skin of Edward’s biceps as he was trying to find any kind of purchase there. Forgotten was everything that happened mere minutes ago. It was the thought what Oswald just did, the lingering scent of Jerome’s blood on him that excited him even more. By this point they had both managed to wiggle out of the confinements of their clothing, for the most part, only their boxer shorts keeping them apart while all Edward was craving was to feel Oswald’s heat around him and against him. He couldn't remember ever having felt like this before - like he needed to be unbearably closer to another person, unable to stay away from Oswald or the pleasure that the smaller man promised.

He stepped away from Oswald at that thought and enjoyed seeing his former best friend reach out for him right away to draw him back in. Being so close to Oswald was like ecstasy and Ed was only a junkie. He had always been like this. Unable to stay away from something or someone that promised relief from his darkest thoughts swirling inside his head. He had hated all the pills his parents had forced him to take and yet, in some odd way, they had been a relief. He had hated them and yet he had craved them.

»Ed?« Oswald mumbled as Ed stood far enough away from the other man that Oswald couldn't quite reach him. »Something wrong?«

There was quite a lot wrong with this situation, actually. Starting by the fact that he had been dragged out of his room in the middle of the night, tied up and had a noose placed around his neck. He could have died, strangled to death slowly and certainly painfully. And he remembered how Oswald had begged Jerome - _begged_ \- for his life in promising Jerome his loyalty over and over.

Perhaps, were the circumstances any different than they were now, he might just shrug it off as Oswald trying to convince Jerome of his loyalty to save his own neck but looking at him now, looking at those wide blue eyes, he knew that this was only partially true. Oswald had been afraid Jerome would kill him - even though he had reason enough to hate his guts and want to see him dead. What they shared until now, was only sex yes - but there was no denying that there was something more than that going on between them. He might be crazy, yes, maybe even ignorant to his own sickness - but he was not delusional.

The thought scared him. This was not part of the plan.

»We have all night.« He finally answered in releasing a breath he had clung onto as if his life would depend on it. »No need to rush things.«

That was his excuse that he delivered with a sly grin as he shortly brushed his fingers over Oswald’s left knee before he turned to the sideboard on the right-hand side of the room. He knew that the good doctor was hiding his private stash of alcohol there. Of course, no one who was working inside Arkham and had to listen to the ramblings of madmen like Edward or Oswald would survive a day without a proper drink.

He could hear Oswald walk up behind him despite the fact that he was quite silent on his now naked feet. Edward crouched down in front of the sideboard after he had opened it and pulled a bottle of whiskey out. »I saw him hide the bottle when I was early to a session once.« Edward explained as he raised to his feet only to have Oswald wrap his slim arms around him from behind for a moment. He wouldn't lie: He could get used to that feeling - even though he was probably better suited to be the big spoon.

Edward made quick work of uncapping the bottle but before he could even offer the bottle to Oswald or take a swig himself, Oswald had snatched it away from him and took a rather big swig straight from the bottle. It was a bit off seeing the always proper Oswald Cobblepot drinking straight from a bottle like this.

He watched his Adam's apple bop with fascination and pressed his mouth to it out of instinct, drawing another startled little gasp from the kingpin of Gotham. Almost he would have choked on the whiskey as Edward surprised him so. It was his desire to throw him off balance. It was his desire to make him forget that Jerome Valeska ever existed and dared to lay a hand on him. Only he should be of importance to Oswald ever again. He should only see him - not James Gordon or Jerome Valeska or anyone else he had shared a bed with in the past.

He managed to grab the bottle from Oswald and took a swig of it too before the other man could empty the already half-empty bottle completely. The Whiskey burned in his throat and warmed his stomach. The moment the bottle left his lips, Oswald’s mouth was capturing his own once more even as he had to rise to his tiptoes to actually kiss him. This time, it was different. It felt different than their usual kisses. Maybe because for once they didn't need to rush anything or be extra careful. They were safe here and they had the entire night to enjoy each other.

Slowly, he allowed his free hand to travel down Oswald’s left side before he rested it right above the waistband of his boxer shorts on his skin. Oswald’s fingers to each side of his jaw felt like they belonged there. The kiss was slow and lazy this time. He could taste the whiskey on Oswald’s tongue after he was granted permission to slip inside. Oswald melted against him just like this and almost he would have dropped the bottle then as Oswald shoved him against one of the chairs until he was forced to sit down.

The king of Gotham was in his lap before he could gather his thoughts. He would never complain though. Not about Oswald’s mouth traveling from his own mouth down his neck, to his clavicle where he left a mark on his skin. As he sucked at his skin, he couldn't stifle the moan that escaped his throat. He wouldn't complain about Oswald’s hand in his boxer shorts either or about the way his fingers curled around his half-hard erection that was pulling yet another moan from his throat. Their usual trysts were always rushed - not tonight though.

Admittedly, it was almost a little too enticing to have sex in his doctor’s office. Time and time again Edward had been sitting in this very chair and listening to his doctor warning him about his relationship with Oswald. It was like rubbing it in Dr. Whitman’s face, almost. Of course, the danger of getting caught while having sex with Oswald was often enough half the fun here in Arkham but he enjoyed having this room all to themselves - locked and safe. For once, there was no rush as Oswald’s fingers curled around him.

As exciting as the thrill of getting caught might have been before, there was a comfortable calm about just being able to enjoy their closeness without exactly that. Gasping into his mouth after he had finally been able to reclaim Oswald’s lips, Edward dug his nails into Oswald's hips at his touch. Hooking them under the hem of his shorts, he dragged the fabric down, scratching the soft skin in the process with blunt nails. The warm touch of his hand made his breath hitch in the back of his throat, while he buried his other hand in Oswald's hair to not break the kiss. The other blindly searching, teasing as it ran along the inside of his thigh and pulled him free, curling around his shaft.

Oswald’s back arched up almost painfully for a moment and the breath he tried to hold back came out shuddering as he broke away from the kiss before he caught Ed’s bottom lip between his teeth. Almost without thinking Ed brought his hand down to gently rub the back of Oswald's injured leg, a quiet groan tumbling over his lips as Oswald’s teeth caught his lip. »Maybe we should move this somewhere more comfortable.« He muttered trying to catch his breath as Oswald’s watched him with hazy eyes.  

There was the tiniest nod coming from the other man before Edward moves his hands swiftly underneath his ass to hoist him up while he stood. Oswald immediately hooked his legs around him, unwilling to let go in any way. Just as desperate for this bit of contact as Ed was. He moved over to the desk. The fainting couch looked inviting, of course, but it would be too small for them and fucking Oswald on Dr. Whitman’s desk … Well, that was not a fantasy he would entertain for the first time.

Ed made quick work in shoving the scattered items on the desk out of the way with his right hand before he lowered Oswald on the desk. It was not his problem that Dr. Whitman was not tidying up his workplace when he left. It was not his problem that, in the morning, the papers on the desk would be rustled and messed up. He actually enjoyed the idea of fucking Oswald on the files of other patients. Oswald's legs were still around him as he recaptured his mouth once more, his arms around his neck all the same.

Ed trailed his kisses down the sensitive middle of his throat, right between his collarbones, an utterly straight line. Any other time that may have been even entertaining, but now he was focused on sucking red marks onto Oswald's skin and ridding him of the last of his clothes as Oswald finally allowed him to move enough to rip his shorts down and let them slip from his legs onto the ground. Teasing he let his tongue glide along his shaft, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. It had been easy to read the want in his eyes, and Edward wasn't ever going to deny him what he wanted when it was within reason. The result was first Oswald's breath hitching at the back of his throat and then a desperate little moan as his brain seemed to fully grasp what was happening to him right now.

»Don't tease!« Oswald moaned with a frown on his face as Ed looked up at him shortly.

By now, Oswald seemed much more comfortable with getting what he wanted than as they had first slept together. He snuck his long fingers into Ed’s brunette curls with ease as he tugged and pulled gently to get Ed where he wanted him.

»Why not?« Ed replied, just loud enough for him to hear. He liked the whimpers that it drew from Oswald's throat. Whimpers that sent a little firework down his spine. So, of course, he wouldn't let him off that easily, although Ed was more than willing to give in to the tug on his hair. Things were getting easier between them, more casual, more relaxed. Their bodies not as foreign to each other anymore. That thought scared a part of him to death. Months ago, he had wanted him dead. Weeks ago, he had broken down when he thought him dead.

Eyes cast momentarily upward, Edward slowly wrapped his mouth around him, pressing his tongue against the head of his cock, carefully moving it across to explore as if this would be the first time he did this. They would stay here for a while, and while they were exhausted, neither of them was tired enough to not make it worth their while. Ultimately, he allowed Oswald to tug him right into place between his legs because seeing where that would lead him was kinda fun too.

»Fuck!«  Oswald finally exclaimed, his toes curling in that very unique way that Ed had been able to observe before as Ed started to use his wicked tongue to his full advantage, rendering him speechless in the process and making him seemingly unable to even think straight for a second as he aimlessly pulled at Ed’s hair. It was clear to Ed already that he wouldn't last long if Ed would continue like this as his ministrations.

Ed groaned around his shaft when Oswald pulled at his hair again, this time he gave in to the tug. Taking him in deeper as Oswald pulled him down. Encouraged to continue instead of moving on, by the way Oswald squirmed beneath him as he moved his mouth and tongue.

»I’m close.« Oswald moaned into the void of the office and gave Ed a warning tug. He didn't need that confirmation - not by the way his stomach trembled from the strain of breathing that was only interrupted by those soft moans that Edward could draw out of him just too easily. The little warning tug wasn't enough to stop him if anything it felt encouraging.

A low groan answered Oswald's words, for his own lack of them, and for a moment Edward's eyes flicked up to watch him tremble and writhe with pleasure. He wouldn't leave him hanging on edge now, although Oswald surely would have other plans if given the chance to speak or if Ed had found it in himself to not push him and ask. But his mouth and tongue moved nearly on their own to make him come. Breathing, evidently, was for losers. His own brain cells were too busy jumping ship in favor of making Oswald feel good while heat was coiling in his stomach.

It didn't take much more than that for Oswald to finally jump over the cliff with a deep throaty moan as he was allowed to spill inside Ed's mouth. Despite the expectation, it still caught him a little off-guard when Oswald came into his mouth. He swallowed almost out of reflex, but it was a mess anyway as he worked him through it. Edward licked his mouth clean, trying to catch his breath at the same time.

»Jesus, Ed…« Oswald gasped as he managed to regain control of his breathing just enough.

Slowly, Ed rose back to his feet and couldn't quite help looking as satisfied with himself as a cat who'd just stolen fish from a market stand. He liked to know that he'd been the cause of his lack of breath and glazed eyes and shivering body. Not Jerome Valeska or Jim Gordon or whoever else. Him. He placed a lazy kiss on Oswald's mouth, tugging at his lower lip. Eyes dark with want. Feeling dizzy with want. Of course, he wasn't done with him. Not yet anyway while Oswald seemed ready to drop dead. Oswald’s response to the kiss was lazy and sluggish as he needed a moment to regain control over his body and stop the tremors running through his limbs.

Still, not even Oswald Cobblepot could ignore Ed’s desire for more with his rock hard cock brushing against his stomach. A low growl slipped his throat and into the kiss. The brief sensation of skin contact was enough to send another surge of heat through his veins.

Instead of passing out right then and there, Oswald caught his face with both his hands. »How do you want me?« He asked, his voice raspy after the ordeal he had gone through just now. Already he flung, his good leg around Ed's hips again and lazily dragged his foot down the backside of his leg.

How. How was a good question. But then there was already Oswald's leg pulling him closer and he didn't really want to think. Just wanted. Just that. Once again he kissed him, but this time with more fervor, fewer inhibitions. Then again he didn't have those at the very moment.

His fingers trailed along Oswald's side. Making Edward think that he didn't want anything in particular other than to watch him writhe and squirm a little longer. »Maybe I already got you where I want you.« He grinned, teeth grazing the skin on his neck. Carefully, he lifted Oswald's injured leg at the thigh to make more room for himself and Oswald was too happy to oblige as he hooked both his legs around him again.

Oh, how easily his legs fell open for him. How much time wasted with trying to kill each other. Oswald was so receptive to his every touch as if his entire body was one raw nerve lying open and reacting with hyperactivity to every bit of skin contact he had with Edward. He gasped for breath like a fish on land as Ed moved his hands along his thighs, down the inside, clawing his nails into the sensitive skin just to tease him - hyper-aware of every shiver and every little sound.

Still no lube or anything they could use as a substitute - not that it would have mattered for them until this point anyway. Still, he watched his expression carefully as he slowly began working him open, trying to ease him back into it. Not that Oswald’s body needed much convincing as it accepted Ed’s fingers with ease. Already he could feel Oswald harden against him again just by the touch of Ed’s fingers alone. He could feel him loosen up and relax against him as his fingers moved easily inside him, spreading him open thoroughly.

Oswald gave a low whine as he removed his fingers before Ed lined himself up with his heat and slowly pushed in, teasing him only with the head of his cock at first. A breathy gasp slipped past his lips. The sensation of being inside him never quite settled as not exciting. His fingers trailed along his hip and down his thigh while he waited for Oswald to get comfortable. With one hand he gently pushed against his chest until Oswald was resting with his back on the table and on top of angrily crinkling paperwork.

Oswald was unable to swallow the deep moan that escaped him as Ed breached the tight ring of muscles and slowly inched in deeper with each second. Searching for any kind of purchase, Oswald quickly held onto his shoulders and dragged him down closer.  Oswald, clawing into his shoulders, moaning like that, was more than enough to occupy his thoughts and mind and body. There was a moment to savor the heat and the closeness, anticipation coursing through his veins once he was inside him.

With a groan, he rocked his hips forward. Slow and steady. The scratches on his back and shoulders would later become lovely proof of their shared experience. Oswald was like pudding in Ed's hands.

As soon as Ed started moving inside of him he tore the first deep moan from Oswald's throat as the smaller man decided he would just give himself to the ecstasy of this moment, laying almost limp on the desk, while his own fingernails were already clawing at Ed's back in desperation to get more. More closeness, more movement, just more. Each sound that he tore from Oswald's vocal cords was thrumming with excitement through him, while he made no effort to hold his own voice back. Wanting him to know that it was mutual.

Edward shifted his position a little, so he could grip him better by the hips and pull him in, pull him close – closer – with each thrust. Digging his fingers into the skin so it would leave marks later on. He could feel precisely how Oswald's nails were digging into his skin, clawing away the last of his thoughts that weren't coherent anymore anyway. He let himself give in, to fuck him rough and hard with a guarantee of not wanting to walk anytime soon by tomorrow morning.

Oswald's moans only grew louder and raspier and turned into little screams the harder Ed thrust into him. He didn't even need to lay a hand on himself now and for once he didn't even try to anyway. Only the feeling of Ed inside of him thrusting mercilessly sufficed to push him over the edge of the cliff once more.

All that was of any importance, was the sensation of the heat around him, the pressure of his legs around his waist, and the drag of his nails on his back. And there was nothing about Oswald keeping him as close to himself as possible that Edward wanted to stop. His moans deep and low, as he could feel the heat build up and coil inside of him. The movement of his hips stuttering when Oswald came and tightened around him, wanting to hold up the pace but being unable to when he pulled him over the edge just the same. He came with a shuddering groan. Collapsing on top of him as he was trying to regain his breath and subsequently train of thought as well.

They stayed like this for a while, trying to regain their breathing, trying to make sense of what they were doing to each other in this god-forsaken place. The only thing grounding him were Oswald's kisses as his lips trailed along his jaw lazily. He was utterly unable to break away from him, to break the contact and the closeness. And for once he didn't have to. They could spend the rest of the night in this office and he wouldn't even care if Dr. Whitman would discover them in the morning, still entangled with each other. What would be the worst he could do to them anyway?

»I beat up Jerome…« Oswald muttered quietly against the shell of Ed’s left ear. His words alone drew a breathy little laugh from Ed’s throat.

»Yes, you did.« He muttered under his breath as he finally managed to get his body moving again. Slipping out of Oswald left him feeling cold as he pulled Oswald up by his hands and from the table. At least he had the satisfaction of having ruined the files on Dr. Whitman’s desk as he watched his cum dripping lazily out of Oswald and down his legs.

»I really beat him up.« Oswald repeated as he got back to his feet and pulled up his boxer shorts. Almost Edward wanted to protest as he himself bent down to put his own back on. It was cold inside the office but until now, he hadn't noticed it. Only after they got dressed again, they lay down on the fainting couch. It was the first time that they were able to just lie together, snuggled as closely as the limitations of skin and bones allowed them to. Having Oswald in his arms, his head tucked underneath Ed’s chin and his nose nestling into the crook of his neck, felt good, actually. It felt like the one thing he had been searching for his whole life without even knowing it. What a terrifying thought. »He’ll be out for my head tomorrow.«

»I think he might have learned his lesson tonight.« Edward huffed as he lazily dragged his fingers through his messy hair. His hair was starting to grow out more and more each day. Soon his blonde roots would be undeniable. The thought amused him. Oswald actually produced that low lazy chuckle he liked to hear so much lately, his breath ghosting over the skin of Ed’s neck. They fell back into a comfortable silence for a few moments before Ed finally spoke up again.

»Martin is still alive, Oswald.« He expected the other man to jump from the couch but Oswald stayed where he was, quietly, calmly, resting against him, only a small gasp escaping him at that. »I spoke to Lee … She was able to tell me everything.«

 

**-End of Chapter 11-**


	12. Chapter 12

»Third time’s the charm, I assume?« Ed grinned as he sat down on the metal chair in the visitation room of the asylum. On the other side of the table sat Lee Thompkins once more. Her expression was calm, unreadable, sober. She didn't want to be here, obviously, he could sense that, but she didn't seem to be as much on edge as the last two times. In fact, she seemed quite self-assured of being here.

»Don't worry, this will be the last time I will ever set foot into this building.« Lee replied, leaning comfortably in her chair, her long legs crossed and her right hand folded protectively over her left on her left knee. She was still wearing a bandage wrapped around her hand. The pain she must be in was unimaginable. »I come with a message.«

»What message?« His interest was peaked at her choice of words as he leaned his chin on his folded hands, leaning his upper body weight heavily on his elbows on the table as a love-stricken teenager might do while watching his paramour. There was still this undeniable voice in the back of his head that found great interest in Lee Thompkins but, for the most part, this interest had shifted in meaning quite drastically over the past couple of weeks. No longer was he plagued by fantasies of ruling over the Narrows with her as his queen or of leaving Gotham to live the perfect apple-pie life somewhere far away from this god-awful city.

He didn't know when the shift had happened, whether it had occurred gradually or all at once, but whenever he thought about it, he came to remember the early morning hours in Dr. Whitman’s office, resting on the fainting couch with Oswald in his arms. They had woken up early enough to sneak back into their cells undetected but ever since he found himself missing Oswald’s warmth in his arms every night when he would go to sleep.

»A good friend of us is advising you to get ready for a very sudden change of scenery very soon.«

※※※※※※※

It was madness. That was the perfect - the only way - to describe what was happening around him. The one moment, he had been minding his own business, walking down the corridor of the asylum towards his art therapy session, the very next, someone - Ed Nygma - jumped out from inside the consultation room and all but tackled him like a rabid dog.

He felt the metal that was being pressed to his throat before his mind was even able to pick up on what was going on around him. Ed had his left arm wrapped securely around his middle from behind, pressing him against his body in one swift motion without the chance of escape, while his right hand pressed just as firmly a knife against his throat, ready to cut deeply into his flash and allow him to bleed out. He remembered this. Hadn't something like this happened before? It seemed like something from a dream - possibly a nightmare. This time there was no red jello to fake blood, though.

»Come one step closer and I kill him!« Ed thundered. »You know I’m not bluffing, Bullock!«

Bullock. _Harvey_.

The detective slowly left the room Edward just jumped out of, his hands raised in surrender in front of Edward like he was trying to soothe a startled and agitated animal so that it wouldn't lash out. As he tried to approach them, he felt the blade dig into his skin and involuntarily let out a small gasp at the sensation and the biting pain this caused.

As Harvey and his eyes met, there was no surprise in the eyes of the Irishman. Shouldn't he be surprised to see him here? Hadn't Edward told him that all of Gotham thought him to be dead?

His heart was racing inside his chest, his pulse going two hundred miles per hour, sweat collecting on his left eyebrow as he was utterly unable to grasp what was going on or why Edward would attack him like this so suddenly. What had he done now to deserve this? Or was it pure coincidence that Ed attacked him right now?

 _You shouldn't have trusted him_. That nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him grimly. _You knew from the start he would betray you again. He won’t hesitate to kill you. He already tried a few times and there is nothing holding him back now._

Out of the corner of his left eye, he could see a nurse frozen near another door but quickly grabbing for his walkie talkie to call for backup to subdue Edward if possible. »Don't you dare move a muscle, Paul!« Ed yelled at the nurse in question and Paul flinched back. »If anyone comes closer, Oswald is dead, you get it now?«

»I get it, Pal.« Harvey replied quickly but remained as calm as he possibly could, his hands still held in front of him to signalize that he was no threat to Ed, a nervous smile etched into his weathered face. He looked like a man who honestly regretted ever getting up in the morning. »Ed, come on, let him go. We don't need this, do we? I am just here to talk, that's all.«

»Of course you are, Bullock.« Edward’s voice was deep and dark, that almost sensual tone that always made his knees go weak with excitement. It was a dangerous tone, the tone of a man who wouldn't hesitate to paint the walls with his blood. The prospect of that should not excite him as much as it did. Yet, it was an oddly familiar feeling. He remembered their cat and mouse game a year ago, how they had tried to outsmart the other and ultimately kill each other. It had been an arousing little game they had played back then. »Because we are such good friends, aren't we?«

»He’s not bluffing!« Oswald gasped and winced as Edward pressed the blade even deeper into his skin, nicking it open. He could feel a little bit of blood lazily dripping from the small cut, more soon to follow.

»Ed … I am just here to ask you some questions. If you would just let go of Oswald, I could-«

Suddenly, an ear-piercing scream coming from behind him made Harvey whip around at once. »They got guns!« Someone screeched and Harvey, on instinct pulled out his gun. Edward, on the other hand, never dropped his caution at all. He kept Oswald pressed safely against him. If he wouldn't hold a knife to his throat intent on killing him, Oswald might have actually found a sense of security in the embrace.

Medical personnel came running down the hallway towards them, screaming and in obvious panic but Harvey, being a proper cop, walked down the hall instead and thus abandoned Edward and his hostage at once. A possible shooter inside the asylum was, by all means, seemingly more important than Edward Nygma threatening to kill his former best friend and former nemesis. He would have felt affronted under different circumstances.

»You two, stop right there!« Harvey shouted as he reached the end of the hallway just as two men were approaching from further down. Oswald would recognize Victor Zsasz under a thousand professional killers. The light was reflecting on his bald head as he approached with measured steps, calm and casual as always. At his side, his colleague, Wendell.

»Oh, God no…« Oswald gasped. He barely felt it as Edward tugged at him to move away from the scene. His eyes were glued to the two assassins walking down the hallway towards them.

»Bullock?« Zsasz called out seemingly amused by his presence. »Dude, I thought you stopped being a cop! Guess it didn't take, huh?«

»Not so much.«

He was not privy to the rest of the conversation as Edward suddenly and almost a little violently pulled him along, further down the hallway. He was walking backward, dragging Oswald with him, still with the knife to his throat as neither of the other people around seemed to grant them any attention anymore. Before Oswald understood what was happening, Edward had already taken his left hand from Oswald’s stomach to open the door to the staircase in his back before shoving Oswald into the stairwell.

»Run!« He whispered as he followed him inside. He didn't know how or why, but apparently Ed had managed to steal a set of keys and the moment they were in the stairwell, he was locking the door behind them and allowed the key to block the lock. Only then did Edward head for the stairs. He grabbed Oswald by the hand to pull him along. His confusion about all of this made it almost impossible to realize that they were going to escape Arkham. He couldn't escape Arkham! Martin was out there somewhere and when Zsasz was here, Sophia knew that he was still alive and thus Martin would be in grave danger if he would escape now!

He tried to pull his hand free from Ed, even undergoing the risk of slipping on the steps. »I can't go!« He wheezed. »Martin - He … If Sophia-«

»Martin is safe, Oz!« Ed hissed. »This is all part of the plan!«

»What plan?«

» _Our_ plan!« Ed tugged at his hand even sharper as he quickened his pace. Oswald could hardly keep up. Edward had much longer legs and adding to his slower pace was only his damaged leg that made it almost impossible for him to keep up with Ed. »Zsasz is on our side! This is all just a charade for Sophia! Come on now, we don't have much time!«

It seemed to be a miracle that they managed to actually get out of the building and later he wouldn't be able to tell how that even happened. Edward seemed to know exactly where to go even as the alarm went off on them seemingly just a minute after they had entered the stairwell. Of course, they didn't leave through the stairwell, though. Very soon, Arkham would be swarmed with armed guards and police arriving at the scene.

Ed surprised him as they left the stairwell on the floor underneath their unit again - the floor that was still under construction.

The construction workers that were around paid them no mind as they rushed down the corridor and towards the laundry shoot. »No!« Oswald hissed as the pieces started to fall into place. Surely, Ed was just trying to fuck with him to add a little more drama to this situation. »No way, Ed!«

»Do you want to live?« Ed sneered at him as he pulled open the shoot and quickly helped him to climb inside. It was pure madness and as he finally landed in a pile of dirty Arkham uniforms he was surprised that he hadn't broken any bones - which almost changed as he very narrowly escaped being squashed by Ed as he quickly climbed out of the trolly holding the laundry underneath the laundry shoot.

He didn't get much time to recover from the fall as Ed was already dashing past him again. The laundry of Arkham Asylum was located on the first level of the basement, further down were all kinds of different labs and therapy rooms. He remembered that the room where Strange had one tortured him was on the second level. The information made him tremble in fear as he looked around the laundry.

They were alone during this time of the day. The laundry workers had apparently just finished their shift for today, the last load of freshly washed clothes was still hanging from the clothing lines at the ceiling. Mostly towels and bathrobes. A pile of dirty uniforms lay in wait on one of the piles that still needed washing.

There were only two ways out of the laundry. Of course, the obvious way out would be the steel door that was securely locked from the other side usually and the other one - and thus only viable option - was the window that was right underneath the ceiling and led into a funnel and into freedom. Well, if it wouldn't be for the grit that was usually placed right on top of those funnels to keep patients from escaping.

»Our friends removed the grit outside.« Ed remarked as if he was reading his mind. Already he was reaching up to fumble with the latch on the window before prying it open.

»What friends?«

»You’ll see. Just climb - I’ll help you.« Ed urged him again and though he, in all honesty, just wanted to pause and keep asking questions, he actually complied and decided that trusting Edward might be his best option at that point. He could always go on to punch him square in the face later - after they had escaped this nightmare factory. For once, surviving and escaping all of this seemed much more important than his anger at the taller man or the question as to why he hadn't informed him of this plan beforehand.

Needless to say, he felt a little stupid as Ed hoisted him up so that he could even reach that window. For that alone, his former right-hand man deserved a slap in the face. Scrambling out of the funnel was a lot harder than expected but ultimately he managed to climb out of it, his fingers digging into the dirt outside, clawing his way free. It felt almost like dragging his own body out of a shallow grave where he had been meant to be buried alive.

Not too long after he had gotten out of the hole and raised to his feet, Ed too scrambled out. After a moment of hesitation, Oswald lent him a hand to help him out of the funnel. »Come now, the car is waiting for us.«

»What car?« Oswald managed to bite out as they were already running again. His leg was aching and screaming at him. He needed a break but of course, he wouldn't get one - and if Edward was not trying to trick him, he didn't really want one either.

»The one we are getting away with!« Ed replied impatiently in a sharp hiss. Behind them, the alarm sirens of Arkham were blaring above all. For now, they were not being followed at the very least. No dogs coming after them or armed guards. They thought they were still inside but they didn't have that much time to spare. Edward was quickly directing him towards the north wall of the perimeter and as they hit the high stone walls that were surrounding all of Arkham Asylum, Oswald found that the barbed wire fence on top of the wall had been destroyed at this particular section. Once more he needed Edward’s help to climb over while his much taller accomplice didn't have that much trouble climbing over from the other side.

On the other side of the wall was only a narrow path that was leading through the dense forest surrounding Arkham and there, parked but with the engine still running, a familiar white van. He rushed over to the car without wasting another thought, Ed hot on his trail. The backdoor of the van was opened for them from the inside and Oswald had never been happier to see Ivy Pepper as she regarded him with one of her brightest smiles.

He was free.

※※※※※※※

»Why didn't you tell me before?«

The anger had been expected. Anger was Oswald's default mode. Where other people would revert to tears or cave in, Oswald would unleash his anger without holding back and mow everything down that was standing in his way. In fact, it was his ability to tap into his anger, what had always fascinated Ed about the other man. However, being inside a car with Oswald when he was angry and fuming and still having drugs in his system was not the easiest experience for certain. At least the room which he had to pace back and forth in was limited.

»I needed your reaction to be authentic.« Ed replied as calmly as possible. Soon they would hit the rendezvous point and switch cars. A white van was just too suspicious especially in a city like Gotham. Gabe and Ivy sat in the front of the vehicle by now and they could hear the soft music playing on the radio from the front.

»But you just said Zsasz and Bullock are in on it!« Oswald’s confusion about this whole situation was surely somewhat justified. After all, the other man already had a hard time processing what was happening to him and this little stunt Edward had performed with Bullock and Zsasz had only added to his grant confusion.

»I did and he _is_ in on this - but not this weird other guy. It had to look real.« His explanations fell on deaf ears as it seemed but that didn't keep him from trying to get through to the other man. »Look, I wanted to tell you what the plan was the moment I was done talking to Lee but then I decided against it, Oz. It seemed better this way.«

»You almost cut my throat!«

»I was in perfect control of the situation.«

»Yeah, but you wouldn't have been if one of the guards would have been there! They could have shot you!« It was only then that Oswald paused in his tracks and there was something much deeper going on inside of his mind at those words - an unspoken truth that he felt and that Edward knew about already because he had often enough thought the same thing that was now whirling through his mind on repeat. _I could have lost you._

»But everything went according to plan and now we can plan our next steps.«

»And what steps would that be?« He asked with a very toothy very impatient smile, his hands clutched into tight fists.

»You’ll see when we get there.«

Of course, Oswald was not too happy with this answer but not too long after they had left Arkham in this van, they stopped again. From the back of the van, he couldn't see where they were exactly but only seconds after the van first stopped, Gabe opened the backdoor of the van for them. He could see a black car that was parked only a few feet away as Ivy hurried over to it and opened the trunk before returning to them.

»Good to see you again, Boss.« Gabe finally greeted Oswald with a smile. It was an honest expression, almost even heartfelt by the looks of it. Gabe Visconti was probably the only trustworthy henchman Oswald had at his disposal. »I was worried next time I would see you, you would be dead for real.«

»We shouldn't waste time.« Ed interrupted the two gangsters as he was about to climb out of the van. It was Ivy who stopped him tough as she thrust a bundle of clothes at Edward.

»You should change first. I hope the clothes fit you guys, it's the best we could do in this short a time. But you still shouldn't run around in those ugly jumpers any longer.«

It wasn't long after their small stop at the side of a country road, that they had changed and driven off in the black car, leaving behind their Arkham uniforms. Apparently, Gabe had already arranged for the van to be dealt with properly. They would use it to put Sophia off their scent for a little while. She should think that they had left town and fled into the countryside of Gotham. Instead, through the blacked out windows of the backseat, Edward could watch as the remote landscape of Gotham's country roads rushed past them and the city became bigger and bigger again. Soon, Gotham city would swallow them whole again.

Diving back into that god-awful city felt like being washed in the healing waters of the Lazarus Pit. The moment the first skyscrapers started raising among them, Edward started to feel more and more like himself again. He missed his green suit already but for the moment the mismatched assortment of clothes had to do. At least they fit. Meanwhile, Oswald seemed to drown in the clothes Ivy found for him.

The black car dove into an underground parking lot in the very heart of Gotham and finally parked on the second level of the parking lot in a reserved spot. Gabe got out first and, after a quick look around the parking lot, he allowed Ivy and the two men in the back to get out as well. The elevator leading up was only a few feet away and before they had even reached it, Gabe had pushed the button and the doors opened. They were quick in getting into the elevator, their heads down and their faces obscured by scarfs that they had pulled over their mouths and noses. They kept their heads down like this for the entirety of the elevator ride up to the 27th floor of the building. When the doors of the elevator opened again, they were standing right in the entrance hall of a large apartment.

»I know this place.« Oswald muttered as they slowly stepped out of the elevator and into the foyer of the apartment. A tasteful art deco inspire glassdoor was the only barrier between the foyer where the elevator was and the rest of the apartment.

»Of course, Silly.« Ivy huffed with a little smile playing on her face. He could see that it urged her to poke Oswald’s nose at those words. »It's yours!«

»Well, it was Maroni’s.« Gabe explained with a soft hum. He seemed rather fond of the redhead. »But you took over all of his safehouses after his death.«

Oswald still seemed a bit confused at those words but he didn't have much time to fully grasp the reality of things as there was a sound coming from inside the apartment just as Ivy opened the door of the entrance room to allow both men inside.

Before Ed even knew what was happening, he saw a child running up to Oswald and in an instant, the child was wrapping his arms tightly around the gangster's waist and pressed his face into his stomach. Not in his wildest dreams had Edward ever thought he would see something like this play out right in front of him. He very much remembered the day during Oswald’s time as mayor when they had visited a school and how much Oswald had hated being there.

»Martin!« Oswald muttered under his breath and actually crouched down in front of the boy to properly hug him then. He could see tears on Oswald’s face and the boy seemed just as excited as his guardian.

»He was very well-behaved.« Ivy beamed. »Such a little sweetheart! When Zsasz brought him here, he kept asking about you all the time.«

»Zsasz brought him here?« Oswald’s voice was but a hollow breath barely audible in the big apartment now.

»Yes.« Ivy smirked. »He was the only one who knew where he was and he actually freed him from his captors. Of course, he staged the scene to make it look like someone else did it.«

Oswald didn't seem to care much about the intricate details of this plan right now. To him, all that was important was that he had his boy back in his arms. Edward, on the other hand, still didn't quite know what to make of this. He watched how Oswald allowed the boy, Martin, to lead him inside the apartment while Ed stayed back with Ivy and Gabe for a moment. He had, quite honestly, never seen Oswald behave like this.

»I still don't understand what his deal is with the boy.« He didn't mean to sound dismissive or even jealous. Yet, seeing Oswald with Martin, having him smile at the little boy with so much love and honest affection was just plain odd. Oswald had never been a fan of children, after all, yet he truly seemed to love this boy.

»Didn't he tell you?« The surprise on Ivy’s face was completely honest and open. She was not very good in hiding her emotions anyway, at least that had Edward already noticed the few times he had met Ivy Pepper in the past. Oswald and Ivy were certainly an odd duo but the young girl seemed very protective over her much older friend.

»He is so confused most of the time that it's a miracle he still remembers his own name.«

»He adopted the boy a little while ago.« Gabe shrugged. »Boss met him at the orphanage of Miss Falcone and almost immediately took him under his wing. They have been inseparable ever since.«

»It's odd to see him care so much for another human being.« Edward muttered as he watched Oswald walking further into the apartment with the boy who was quite frantically using his hands for sign language. To his amazement, Oswald seemed actually to understand everything that the boy was telling him as it drew a laugh or a full response from him. Hearing him laugh again after everything that had happened and the horrors he had endured in Arkham send tingles down his spine.

»You should settle in.« Ivy smiled and patted his biceps. »There’s food in the fridge, enough towels for you guys and a few other clothes. I couldn't sneak much out of Oswald’s house, though.«

The sun was already setting over Gotham as they were done eating. Even outside Arkham and freed from the ever-looming threat of the asylum looming over them, Oswald ate like a bird. At least he seemed a little more relaxed as inside the asylum in the presence of Ivy, Gabe and especially his son. Martin was able to make him laugh again and again as he retold the story of his captivity and how he played pranks on his kidnappers without mercy. The boy had a good head on his shoulders. He was certainly stronger than most kids his age and yet there was no way the boy has escaped all of this without suffering a trauma from it.

Only when the boy finally fell asleep on the couch was Oswald allowing himself to take a bath. For a little while, Edward just lingered at one of the large windows and allowed himself a good look at the town outside. He hadn't realized how much he had missed Gotham until this very moment as he took it all in. The noise, the colors, the lights in all the apartment buildings around like a starry sky reflecting on the calm surface of a lake.

Only when he heard how Oswald was getting into the tub, Edward stepped away from the window and walked over to the bathroom. Ivy and Gabe had left them only a few minutes ago with the promise to return next morning. As if Oswald had already been expecting him, the smaller man just granted him a small smile. A clear invitation for Ed to join him and one he wouldn't ignore. He made quick work of getting out of his clothes and allowed them to pile on the tiles before he got into the tub.

For just a moment, he was content with just sitting in the hot water like this and watching Oswald before he finally reached out to him. Oswald, who had already waited for the contact, was all too glad to move closer until he was resting with his bare back against Edward’s chest. He couldn't quite help the content little sigh that escaped his throat. All of this felt much too nice, Edward decided. There was still a voice inside of him urging him to be more careful with his feelings towards the other man. Being together in Arkham had been one thing but being together out here in the real world was something entirely else.

»Can you believe that we’re out?« The question escaped him with not much thought. He had admitted himself to the asylum weeks ago to get help, to get better, to banish this part of his personality once and for all so that he could be with Lee. He had been ready to suffer through drugs and electroshock therapy, to be tortured inside the asylum and yet he had decided against it. It wasn’t a matter of which personality was taken center stage because there were no two personalities inside of him. There was the good and the evil like in every other human being and Edward felt, for the first time in a very long while, at peace with both those sides now.

»Hardly.« Oswald snickered. »And my brain still feels like mush. I think I know now how you felt earlier this year.«

»I’d say we’re even then.« Edward found himself mumbling. He shouldn't be here. He should already be on his merry way, doing his thing, planning his next big stunts. He shouldn't be sitting in this bathtub with Oswald Cobblepot in his arms, enjoying the heat of the water that was surrounding them - let alone forgive Oswald for putting him on ice and stripping him of his intelligence which had ultimately caused Edward to go to Arkham in the first place.

_Do you believe in fate?_

The question he had once asked Oswald in his crappy little apartment on Grundy Street came back to him now and he would have laughed about it would he be alone. As he sat there with Oswald in his arms, however, he couldn't bring himself to feel regret for all of this. Until now the only times when they had been close like this had occurred when they fucked or right after. This, right here, was not about the sex, though. It was about being close. Simple as that. It was about feeling Oswald in his arms - alive and breathing, about being together. In a way, sitting entangled like this, felt even more intimate than fucking. Odd.

»What happens next?« Oswald muttered quietly. He sounded exhausted and endlessly tired.

»Next…« Ed began quietly and took a moment to pause as he tried to visualize their next steps in his head. He knew the plan and by now, Oswald knew the plan as well. That didn't make the answer any easier, though. »Next we are going to make Sophia pay.«

 

**-End of Chapter 12-**


	13. Chapter 13

Waking up in a nice comfortable bed was odd to him. Just a little bit of sunlight managed to fight its way through the thick clouds that usually lingered over Gotham and shone into the bedroom of Maroni’s old safehouse. Oswald needed a moment to realize where he actually was. The mop of curly hair in his face helped this process.

A small smile forced its way onto his face as he realized that Martin had apparently snuck into the bed at some point during the night. He pulled him closer by instinct and took a deep steadying breath. Putting into words how glad he was that Martin was with him again - alive - was impossible. Looking back on the past few months it was honestly strange to him how he had so quickly bonded with this little boy so deeply. Maybe it had been inevitable. After all, he could see so much of himself in this boy.

It took him by surprise, though, as he felt someone else move in the bed right behind him. »Morning…« Edward’s voice was raspy from sleep but if he had been certain that Edward would leave the bed immediately, Edward surprised him once more as he just put his right arm around Oswald’s waist and plastered himself against his back.

»Good Morning.« The response came on instinct as he tried not to think about the fact that Edward was cuddling up to him - or that he pressed a kiss just underneath his right ear at his response. They hadn't talked about the state of their relationship ever since they came to this place. Not last night as they had been sharing a bath, nor when they went to bed together like it was normal. They had slept side by side like a normal couple and yet they had still not put a label on their relationship. He had expected Edward to leave the moment they were safe and yet Ed was still here, lying in this bed, snuggling against him with not a care in the world.

Maybe they didn't need to talk about the state of their relationship. Maybe they didn't need to put a label on it. Ed probably knew that he still - despite everything and against all better judgment - loved him and he was still here. This was not about sex either. And still, Oswald didn't allow himself to relax just yet. He wanted Edward desperately to stay at his side forever - and that was the problem. How could he ever expect to be healed from his obsession if he allowed himself to feed it like this?

Being reunited with Martin was more than he would have expected. During his time in Arkham, he had been convinced that his boy was dead, he had mourned him, he had been certain that he was the one who had killed him. And now they were back together. The boy was alive and breathing and _here_. Martin seemed unbothered later as he retold the story of how Victor had saved him from the _bad men_ and yet Oswald knew better than to believe that he truly was unbothered. The boy was stronger than most children his age. He was tough but Oswald thought that his toughness had a lot to do with Martin trying to make him proud and act like he thought Oswald expected him to act. He didn't want to be a burden for Oswald and his heart ached at the thought.

When all of this was over, he promised himself, that he would sit down with Martin and talk. They would talk and become a real family, have this thing that Sophia had wanted to tear away from them. At least Martin didn't seem hurt, Oswald thought as he watched the little boy sitting at the table and talking to Ed. They seemed to get along quite well already. Seeing them together, however, was a little odd to Oswald.

Until this very moment, he had not even thought about Edward meeting Martin and what it would be like if they would in fact meet. It felt a little like he was merging his personal life with his professional life, even though Ed very much belonged firmly in both categories. Denying that after their shared experiences inside of Arkham, would be futile. A part of him, that rational, cold persona of the Penguin that he had built for himself, would claim that what they had in Arkham had no bearings in his life outside of the asylum and that they would both be better off alone from now on. But who was he kidding?

He still loved Ed. He still wanted Ed. And yet he was very much aware that Edward would soon leave and do his own thing again. If he was lucky, they would go back to being allies again or, at worst, adversaries.

He would have time, after Sophia Falcone had been dealt with, to assess the relationship he had with Edward. Now, however, the two cops inside the safehouse demanded his attention.

»We are looking for your bookkeeper, Mr. Penn.« Bullock started off the moment they walked through the door of the apartment without even a greeting first. Now that he knew of Bullock’s involvement in this ridiculous plan he had hatched with Jim Gordon who sauntered in behind his partner, he was actually glad seeing the Irishman.

Jim actually flashed him a genuine smile as their eyes met over Harvey’s shoulder. He seemed honestly glad to see him alive and well, glad that their plan had worked out so far. »Good to see you, Oswald.«

»At least one of you has manners.« Oswald found himself replying with a grim smile. If it wouldn't be for Edward lounging somewhere behind him on the couch and talking to Martin, he might have been tempted to allow the butterflies in his stomach to experience an unexpected revival. Sometimes it seemed so hard for him to bury his infatuation with Jim Gordon for good. It seemed to resurface every time he needed it the least. Always lurking in the muddy waters of his mind, just underneath the surface.

»Mr. Penn?« He repeated directed at Harvey. »What would he have to do with-« And then it finally clicked as the pieces fell into place.

※※※※※※※

Deep down Jim knew that they had a very limited window of time until Oswald would inevitably show up at the Spa and take care of Penn himself. It didn't matter that they told him to stay back and let them handle the situation. He was thirsty for blood and revenge and whenever he was like this, Oswald Cobblepot was like a ticking time bomb. No one knew this better than Jim.

Flashes of the Galavan situation came to mind again. Well, Sophia hadn't killed Oswald's mother but she had posed a threat to his adopted son. She would be lucky not to end up with an umbrella shoved down her throat. This time, however, Jim would not even feel the pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't like he had felt guilty after Galavan’s death either. The man was a maniac, a complete psychopath and monster. And yet, Galavan’s death had been the first step of his to embrace his dark side once and for all. After that, there had been no escape for him.

»He seemed better.« Jim mumbled. »Better than I expected, I mean.«

»You should have seen him in Arkham then.« Harvey huffed at his side. »The guy was a complete wreck! He really thought Nygma would kill him.«

»Can you blame him?« Only shortly did Jim allow himself to glance at his partner. »It's Ed Nygma, after all. You never know what he’s going to do.« The grudge he still held against Edward Nygma was shared by his partner, there was not much debate about that. The man was a cop killer, after all. He had killed his girlfriend after confessing the murder of her ex-boyfriend to her. Saying that Ed Nygma was a psychopath was an understatement for certain.

And yet, Jim had seen the way Edward and Oswald acted around each other now that they were both free as they had visited the safe house earlier. Honestly, freeing Edward too was a part of the deal that bothered him the most. It was a necessary evil - the kind of necessary evil that once made him allow Oswald to kidnap Theo Galavan to beat him into an inch of his life. The kind of necessary evil that forced Jim to team up with criminals and murderers like Oswald and Edward time and time again and sent his morals overboard ever since he came to Gotham. Sometimes he would look in the mirror and hate what he had become.

»When I first came to Gotham I was so idealistic.« He sighed as they pulled into the parking lot right in front of the spa. »I thought I could change everything. You warned me back then. You told me that I had to adapt to survive in Gotham and I didn't want to believe you. I thought, if I would just try harder and work my ass off, I could actually change things. Instead, I made everything worse. I started to slip up. I told myself, every time I implored Oswald’s help, that it was only this one time - no big deal, right? And it happened again and again and again. And every time it got worse and worse. Sometimes I think … How can I still act like this beacon of hope and moral superiority to my colleagues and the rest of Gotham when I am hardly better than the criminals I put away?«

»You are too hard on yourself, Jim.« Harvey put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and though the gesture was well-meant they both knew that Jim simply wasn't the type to accept reassurance of any kind. »You did what you thought was right.«

»And that's the problem.« As he looked at Harvey now, he could see that his partner thought the same thing. »Because I thought I knew what was best, we lost many cops this year, Harvey. It was me who brought Sophia Falcone to Gotham and subsequently Pyg too. He was my creation as much as he was hers and there is no point in arguing that.«

»So we clean up the mess you made and then you get to make it better.«

But could he make it better? He thought about Officer Patel. Harvey had run straight into that trap that Pyg had set up for him, yes, but all of this would have never happened had it not been for Jim. There were just things he would never be able to make up for. Some things just could never be forgiven.

Walking into the spa was like walking into some sort of bizarre twilight zone kind of nightmarish wonderland. Adults way into their forties and fifties crawling like infants on the ground, playing with children toys and getting fed bottles. Adults wearing diapers and screaming like toddlers. Finding Mr. Penn was strangely enough quite easy in the end as he was frantically trying to crawl away from them in his oversized romper suit and headpiece.

They made quick work of actually subduing the man and placing him on a chair at the side. Jim had been certain that he had already seen the man’s most pathetic self but this costume really took the cake.

»I worked for Don Falcone for years - before Mr. Cobblepot.« Penn stammered, his face ever the pitiful mask of some repressed spineless bookworm. »When Sophia came to Gotham, Don Falcone asked me to keep an eye on his daughter. She found out.«

»So you made another deal with her, you weasley triple agent you.«

»It's how you stay alive in this business! And she let me live!« Weasel really was the right word for men like Mr. Arthur Penn. A worm had more backbone than he had and Jim really wouldn't want to be in his shoes if Oswald would ever get his hands on that pathetic little man. »As long as I informed to her about Mr. Cobblepot.«

»That's how she was able to stay one step ahead of Penguin. She had insider information.« He could see it in his partners face that Harvey felt just as tired as he himself as they shared a glance. All of this … Everything that had happened throughout these past months, all those unnecessary deaths and drama all because Penn gave Sophia the information she needed. Still, Penn wasn't the person who was to blame. »Then what?«

»She asked me to put her in touch with Lazlo Valentine.« And there it was. Like the final beat on a drum. »The Pyg. So I did. But I told Don Falcone right away!« He was like a schoolboy proclaiming his innocence in a prank he had been dragged into by his peers as if that would make his involvement in all of this any less incriminating.

»Alright.« Even to his own ears, Jim sounded defeated. »You’re coming with us. We need your statement for the record.« Just as Harvey and he both grabbed one of Penn’s shoulders and helped the bookkeeper up, Jim saw the red dot appear on Penn’s chest. »Get down!« And yet, though Harvey managed to get Penn out of the line of fire, Jim felt the bullet rip through his stomach and he knew that it would take a full blown miracle for him to get out of all of this alive.

※※※※※※※

He was not a man for staying put or idle. Everyone knew this about him and so Oswald was certain that Jim Gordon did not really believe that he would stay at the safe house and let the big boys handle the Penn-situation. Right? Despite his cognitive functions still being a little more limited than he was used to after all this time in Arkham being subdued by drugs and after being dead for a few hours, Oswald couldn't bear the thought of remaining in this apartment with Edward and Martin.

There was a part of him, buried deep within him, that wanted nothing more than just this. Wouldn't it be just so easy now to grab everything they could possibly need, find a car and high-tail it out of Gotham? Leave James and Sophia to rip each other to shreds! Return to Gotham stronger and more powerful than ever before in a few months from now when he would have all his mental faculties back under his full control again.

Who was he kidding, though? Since when was he able to stay out of a fight? Even in school, when he had been that weird little guy who was bullied by his peers he had never stayed out of a fight. Just because the other kids bullied him did not mean that Oswald would have stayed put and played the victim. He had always taken his life and his fate into his own two hands and he wouldn't stop now and trust James Gordon to sort everything out like his knight in shining armor.

After all, growing up in Gotham city, he had seen first hand what usually happened when one trusted the GCPD to sort out things. He would never forget that one time some drug addict had broken into their flat as his mother had been working. He had been all alone in that apartment, terrified of the armed intruder, hiding under his bed. And, in the end, the police had done nothing. They had found the guy after his description of the man, taken him in for questioning, and then allowed him to roam free again. The GCPD didn't care and for the longest time, Oswald had been certain, that James was different.

Hours seemed to have gone by already since Jim and Harvey had left the apartment to go after Penn and he hated just sitting around and waiting. He should enjoy being reunited with Martin. He should sit down with his boy and talk and talk and talk, make sure he was alright, make sure those who had had him had suffered a gruesome death. Instead, he was pacing the apartment, unable to sit down, unable to focus on anything at all.

It was Edward, to his surprise, who kept Martin occupied. As he looked over to where Edward and Martin sat at the kitchen table, he found them playing a game of chess. A part of him felt guilty as he quickly grabbed the car keys from the side table next to the door and the gun Gabe left with them before he snuck out that door. He couldn't wait any longer. He couldn't waste another second in here. Surely, Martin would understand. He was safe with Ed, that was really all that mattered to Oswald anyway at this moment as he quickly stepped into the elevator and allowed the metal contraption to deliver him to the second level of the parking lot where Gabe had left the car yesterday.

Ivy and Gabe had left late in the night via a different car that they had stored in the parking lot. Just to be safe. To Oswald, it was still somewhat of a miracle that his trust in those two had not been betrayed. He had been well aware when all of this started, that he would be doomed if either Ivy or Gabe would decide to betray him. He wouldn't have been able to do anything about it. He had been helpless and yet they hadn't used this to their advantage. Yesterday, Ivy had actually seemed quite stricken over the fact that her drug had had such a negative effect on Oswald even weeks after it had been administered. She had been fretting over him the whole day and, honestly, he felt much better thanks to her care.

It was no secret that Oswald hated driving even under normal circumstances. His leg made it much harder than it had any right to be but the still lingering confusion in the back of his head, only added to the difficulty. Yet, he managed to leave the apartment building without Edward noticing that he had left or even catching up to him. Maybe it was unwise of him to actually drive to the Spa near the tricorner. He was in no state for battle or a shootout. Though he was a great shot, at the moment he really didn't trust himself with a gun all that much.

Still, he couldn't allow Jim Gordon to do everything by himself. Plus, he himself had a bone to pick with Penn and there was always the danger of Sophia showing up at the spa as well. Sure, she would bring Zsasz and Victor seemed to be on their side again, but there was always the additional danger of that maniac Headhunter. He just couldn't stay back and wait for news like a good little boy. Surely, James didn't really expect him to either. Hell, they knew each other long enough for James to know better, right?

As he arrived at the spa, all hell had already broken loose as it seemed. He could see none other than Harvey Bullock escaping the spa with Penn in his hold, running towards his car. As he got out of his own vehicle, he heard the gunfire from inside the mansion and that could truly only mean that Sophia was there - and furthermore, since James was not with Harvey right now, that the other cop was in mortal danger.

The gunfire would attract the attention of more police even before Harvey would be able to dispatch a call for backup but that didn't stop Oswald from making a beeline to the front entrance. He ignored Bullock as the seasoned cop finally had noticed his arrival and called for him to stay put. Instead, maybe foolishly so, he charged right into hell. Maybe, in a different time, he could have convinced himself that he was doing this to save James from certain death but he knew now that his only desire was revenge. Sophia was more important than Penn and James together. He could forgive her for taking his empire and betraying him as she had. They had played a game of chess and he had lost. He could have respected that if she wouldn't have played dirty. But she had hurt Martin. She had scared Martin. She had used his boy against him. She had traumatized _his son_.

No one was trying to stop him as he ran into the building and followed the sounds of shouting and gunfire. Through one of the large windows, he could see Headhunter and Zsasz follow Harvey. He had no time watching them or paying any attention to the sound of tires screeching to a halt in front of the building either. Oswald just followed the noise to the kitchen of the large building instead of wasting his time with anything else.

»Do you think that what I was asking for was any different than what my father had for thirty years?« As he carefully rounded the corner of one of the huge industrial stoves, he could see them right in front of him.

Jim was on the ground, bleeding out on the god-awful red tiles from at least two gunshot wounds that Oswald could spot right away. Sophia Falcone stood above him and it was pretty clear that she would have no qualms about shooting him dead right now. At least he could see two of her gunmen dead on the ground already. She was alone with Jim as it appeared now.

»You mean your father who you killed?«

»Yes.« Her reply was nothing more than a hushed little whisper. There was no remorse in her voice. »I killed him because he disappointed me. Just like you. You know, Jim, oddly enough I still care for you. Beg me for your life. Ask me for forgiveness and we can start over.«

It was then that Jim actually found the last bit of strength he still possessed as he tried to sit up. »Sophia … Go to hell.« There was just a flicker of his eyes over her shoulder, the movement barely noticeable as Jim’s eyes fell upon Oswald behind Sophia but it was enough. It sufficed to alarm her. She turned around slowly as Oswald cocked his gun but there was no fear in her face, only fury in her eyes.

»You!« She grunted out as their eyes met.

»Yes.« Oswald replied with a satisfied grin tugging on his lips. »Me.«

Then there was a loud noise, gunfire exploding in his head, and pain ringing through him like the doomsday bell.

※※※※※※※

»I can't believe this!« Lee was rushing down the serpentine roads that were leading them out of the heart of Gotham and towards the tricorner, her healthy hand securely on the steering wheel, her foot forcing the gas down with new found vigor. »What was he thinking?«

»Nothing.« Lee sounded resigned as her right foot pressed down harder on the gas. Looking at her now she seemed just as determined to get to the spa as he was. Of course, she was. They shared similar reasons to be in such a hurry.

As Edward had finally noticed Oswald’s absence from the safehouse there was no telling for how long he had been gone. Five minutes? Ten? Twenty minutes perhaps? It was impossible to say how much of a headstart he had on Ed. Of course, he could have just stayed back with Martin and wait for him but instead he had called Lee over to pick him up. She had just as much interest in getting there as he had, after all.

The curse he uttered as they were nearing their destination was met with a sympathetic grunt by Lee. »Why the fuck didn't he tell me? Why the fuck did he go after Penn at all? He could have let Jim handle this!«

»It's what he does.« Lee shrugged. »Jim is the same way, always running head first into his doom.« She seemed incredibly calm while Edward was already freaking out all the while he half-heartedly tried to conceal that fact. Then again was there really any point of trying to conceal his true emotions? There was a part of him wondering just why he was freaking out that much in the first place and yet he already knew the answer and there was no point in trying to lie to himself for even a second longer. His answer was snuggling up to Oswald this morning in this huge bed, not for sex, just because he wanted to be close. It was taking care of Oswald’s kid and playing chess with the little boy.

When the spa came into sight there was already chaos. He saw Harvey Bullock running towards Jim’s car with Penn and jumped out before Lee’s car had even come to a halt properly.

»Ed?« Harvey yelled over the sounds of panicked screams and gunfire. »Lee?«

Just then Zsasz stormed out of the building accompanied by Headhunter as Lee got out of the car as well. »Shut up and go, Harvey!« Lee shot at the seasoned cop as Edward was already running towards the building and jumping up the stairs. He couldn't wait any second longer. He couldn't wait to see what was happening with the two assassins, Harvey or Lee. It wasn’t important. None of it was important. He just rushed into the building, following the sounds of gunfire echoing through the ancient halls of the former sanatorium. Adults dressed in oversized toddler clothes and staff came running in his directions in panic as he was fighting his way through them as if running against a tornado. Suddenly, no one seemed even remotely willing to let him through or step out of his way even slightly.

Edward shouldered his way through the crowd, twice almost losing his footing and stumbling but caught himself before that could happen. The shots seemed to ring through the entire building and it seemed impossible to make out from where they were coming. It was futile to pinpoint the source and no matter how fast he ran, he didn't seem to get any closer now. Only when he found himself nearing the large industrial kitchen that was located close to the oversized dining hall, became the shots louder and less frequent.

Edward had his own gun tightly in his right hand by now although he couldn't even remember when he had pulled it out of his belt, counting in his mind the bullets he still had. He had never been the most precise shot and since he didn't even know how many shooters were still left standing now, the odds were probably stacked against him.

It was as he barged through the kitchen door that the noise of two shots being fired at once echoed loudly from the metal of the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. The sound was deafening, as was the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his head. Then, silence.

Edward stopped for just a second before carrying on. The kitchen was painted in blood as he stepped over the bodies of two of Sophia’s henchmen. Yet, as he walked forward, every step felt as heavy as walking through quicksand. His legs didn't want to cooperate as though his body already knew what he would find when he would round the next corner. And yet he did it anyway. He followed the only sounds that were still echoing through the room - choking and labored breathing. The ringing came back and overshadowed even the sounds of high heels clicking on the tiles behind him.

As he rounded the next corner, he found Oswald on the ground. He didn't care for the other two people lying on the ground with him. He didn't care about the fact that Jim Gordon was bleeding out in front of him or that Sophia Falcone was clutching a wound in her stomach but was still very much capable of shooting Edward if she would so desire. His eyes were glued only at Oswald on the ground, a red flower blooming in the center of his chest and blood running from his mouth.

»No, no, no, no!« The words escaped him without even a sensible thought going through his head at this moment. Sophia let out a choking laugh as blood fled her mouth and Ed fell to his knees beside Oswald. His eyes were still open but clouded over by death creeping in on him. Edward acted on instinct as he pushed his hand against the gaping wound in Oswald’s chest as if this would make any difference now. Sophia’s cackling only stopped as yet another shot rang out and as a bullet ripped through her head.

He knew that Lee had finally gotten her revenge without looking. He didn't care much for Sophia Falcone or Jim or Lee at the moment. Only Oswald and the blood that was seeping through his fingers now. It was hot and sticky and everything in him wanted to draw away but the louder part of his brain desired only to pull Oswald into his arms until everything would be alright again. He wanted to act as if they were still lying on the fainting couch in Dr. Whitman’s office, snuggled close together, Oswald in his arms as if he belonged there - no, _because_ he belonged there.

»Oswald, come on, stay with me.« The words were like a mantra as he repeated them over and over and over again. Oswald’s blood was seeping into the fabric of his white dress shirt like some kind of sickness. »Hold on just a little longer, help is on the way. You can't leave me now! Martin needs you!« _He_ needed Oswald.

As Oswald opened his mouth only a gurgling little sound came out as he coughed up more blood. »Take care of Martin…« His voice was barely above a whisper as he finally managed to speak at all. The ghost of a smile was tugging on his lips now. He was even paler than before as life was draining from his body bit by bit. There was no way of stopping it, no chance of saving Oswald. Edward knew this better than anyone else and yet he refused to acknowledge any of that. If he would just press harder on his wound, demand more fiercely that Oswald would stay with him, Oswald would not die.

»No!« He growled. »No! _You_ take care of Martin! That boy needs you! Leaving him with me would be a terrible mistake and you know that!«

»I know.« He didn't know if it was a chuckle that escaped him or a desperate attempt of drawing air into his ruptured lungs.

»Then why would you want me to take care of him?«

»I can't be bought but I can be stolen with one glance. I am worthless to one but priceless to two. What am I?«

He was too weak to keep his eyes open any longer. Already they were drooping and he was slurring his words quite badly and Edward knew that the end was here, that he didn't have any chance of saving Oswald now. He could hear the police sirens in the distance, he could hear Lee Thompkins frantically talking to Jim and asking him to stay awake.

»Love.« He gasped quietly, digging his fingers harder into Oswald’s chest. »I do.« He whispered even though he wasn't sure if Oswald could still hear him. »I do love you.« And then Oswald’s eyes slipped shut and the words still poured over his lips.

 

**-End of Chapter 13-**


	14. Epilog

Clouds hung dark and heavy with rain over Gotham. The cemetery beside the small church in downtown was cast in deep shadows. Rows of old broken gravestones of long-forgotten citizens of Gotham stood watch near the Crown Point Bridge in the distance. The grass was wet from rain already and squelched and squeaked uncomfortably under the steps of polished leather shoes as James Gordon slowly walked through the rows of gravestones. His face was the stoic mask of a man on a mission, weighed down by past injuries and broken dreams.

When he first came to Gotham, he had been a man headset on bettering the city, of tidying up this city and free the citizens from the rule of the crime families and those maniacs roaming the streets. He had been a paradigm of moral superiority, writing arrest warrants for Commissioner Loeb and Don Falcone. He had been the one person who had been willing to go against the tide despite the backlash he would receive - a man who had refused to shoot a young umbrella boy in the head and dunk him in the river which inadvertently caused the destruction of the old system and the rise of even more vile criminals.

In trying to better this city once and for all, he had made it all worse. Now, looking back on the past four years, he was finally able to see it clearly and to understand it fully.

As he was walking the graveyard now, he felt the sting of a memory ripping through his heart. Not too long ago he had been here before, watching as Oswald Cobblepot’s casket had been lowered into the ground on an equally dreadful rainy day. Here he was again, an umbrella clutched in his left hand and a bouquet of lilies in his right hand. In the distance, he found the gravestone of Gertrud Kapelput, the gravestone of her much-beloved son next to hers. Reunited in death after Gertrud had been taken too soon.

A man stood in front of Gertrud Kapelput’s grave, a black umbrella in his hand just like on the day when they had first met. Only his hair and the quality of his three-piece suit was different than back then. In front of him stood now a man of authority and power and no longer a strange looking umbrella boy with dark circles under his eyes, smudged eyeliner, greasy hair, and bad skin.

»I did not expect to see you here, old friend.« Oswald Cobblepot muttered as he looked at him from underneath his umbrella.

»Of course.« Jim shrugged and took position next to him. »Today is the first anniversary of your death, after all.« It was surreal standing here in front of this man’s grave. It was like talking to a ghost. He was almost certain that only he could see him stand here next to him.

Oswald huffed a small laugh. »I was wondering if I should get rid of that grave or not. Maybe it's not too bad to have a grave ready … just in case.«

»You are not going to die anytime soon.«

»Lilies.« Oswald pointed at the bouquet as if he hadn't even heard Jim’s words or chosen to ignore them because they both knew just how likely it was that he would be taken out by some rogue sooner than they both would hope. The same was true for Jim as well, he supposed. Gotham was like a vampire. She was always out for blood. »I am flattered. Are those for me or for my mother?«

»Well, it's your death day, so … here.«

Oswald laughed - one of his very rare honest laughs that he had last heard when they had still been entangled in an affair all those years ago. »You know, Jim, in a different world we could have had a great romance.« As their hands brushed together when Oswald took the flowers from him, Jim nodded in agreement and hummed an appreciative little sound.

»Maybe.« He smirked. »But I’m afraid we would have driven each other mad.«

»You think so?«

»You would have bitched about ninety percent of my habits for certain. You would have burned all my clothes and replace them with fine suits and expensive ties only to get angry when they would get destroyed and dirty during the job.«

»That does sound like me, yes.« Oswald hummed. »Still, I couldn't have my husband dress less than his absolute best.«

»Your husband?«

»Of course, we would have gotten married.« Oswald nodded keeping his eyes on his own gravestone as if they were only talking about the weather. »What would the people have said about me living in concubinage? No. My mother raised me to be a proper gentleman, James. So, yes, you would have gone down on your knees for me and would have asked me nicely - if necessary, we would have had a shotgun wedding.«

He could see it in his mind’s eye how Gabe Visconti would have been standing at the altar with them, a gun trained on Jim and a very nervous priest holding the ceremony against his will. »Like I said, we would have driven each other insane.« There was a moment of comfortable silence settling in on them while they were listening to the rain drumming on their umbrellas. »I think you should get rid of your grave.« Jim finally broke the silence after a little while. »It's bad luck and you are impossible to kill anyway. You will outlive all of us and die of old age in a giant mansion.«

»That does sound terribly lonely.«

»Well, you will probably have Martin and his children with you.« Jim hummed silently.

»What about Ed?« Jim was still not a fan of Edward Nygma or his relationship to Oswald. He and Oswald were in this weird grey area nowadays. They were no enemies but they weren’t exactly friends either. They were somewhere in between and maybe that was all they would ever be from now on. Maybe that was enough.

At least, Jim thought, Gotham had back her rightful king after everything that had gone down with Sophia Falcone. Valerie Vale had helped spin the story of Oswald faking his death to help the police with insider information about that woman and how he had ultimately been shot in all of this and almost died a martyr for his beloved city. Drawing near a new mayoral election, the cries of the public for Oswald to run for office again grew louder and louder with every day now.

»Oh, you will drive him completely crazy and he will probably have a heart attack at one point.« Thinking about the future, imagining what might be in twenty years from now, felt completely weird and yet, Jim Gordon could not imagine a Gotham without the Penguin. He could not imagine his life going forward without his counterpart in this city. It had taken him four years and Oswald faking his death to realize that Oswald was the yang to his yin, the darkness to his light.

※※※※※※※

Oswald didn't much like the Riddle Factory.

That was just a fact of life and one Edward Nygma was aware of after Oswald had set out to make it perfectly clear to his lover that he found his little game show to be vile and stupid and a waste of Edward’s intellect and time. Still, Oswald walked into the building regardless of his distaste. The last time he had been to the Riddle Factory, he remembered that the former factory had been filled to the brim with loud, rude and unruly visitors. Of course, Edward had made sure that Oswald had had a special seat far away from the peasants that were watching his show - and Oswald wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

As he walked into the Riddle Factory now, he found the hall abandoned, the seats empty and the only source of light coming from the giant green question mark on stage and the spotlights shining on it. Confused, he quickly checked his watch only to ensure himself that he wasn't early. Edward had asked him to come tonight to his show, despite the fact that he knew that Oswald hated this place. Still, Martin was in safe hands with Gabe at the mansion and he had Zsasz waiting in his car in the front of the building. He couldn't hole himself up in his mansion every night, he supposed, too enticing was the nightlife Gotham had to offer.

The only person around was Edward standing on stage, wearing his brightest smile on his face and his loudest green suit on his body. Well, he had to admit that Ed did look good in green. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. Odd. Ed usually only opted for contact lenses when he had something important to do or say. As he was walking over to the stage now, it seemed like a lifetime ago that he and Edward had tried to kill each other.

»What's going on, Ed?« He addressed his boyfriend as he climbed up the stage, resting his weight on his cane as he did. Instinctively, he reached out to Ed to kiss him but Edward, to his surprise pulled away with a grin before he could capture his lips. »Where is everyone?« He huffed impatiently at Edward’s shenanigans.

»Not here.«

»I can see that.« Rolling his eyes he gently tugged Edward’s tie properly in place. He was sometimes so sloppy when he was working. »And _why_ is nobody here?« Smoothing down Ed’s jacket usually did the trick to get him to talk when he was being funny. Tonight, however, Ed seemed to have much different plans as he took a step back from him.

»Because I decided that the two of us would play a little game tonight.« Ed smirked as he walked over to the wheel he used to find a proper punishment for the contestants who would lose against him and gave it a little spin. »This is, after all, a gameshow.«

»My dear Edward« Oswald began as calmly and patiently as humanly possible in this situation. »if you are planning on killing me then I would just ask of you to be a bit more creative or original than that. I do not intend to get killed on this stage being eaten alive by rats or something as absurd as that.«

»I don't intend to kill you.«

»No? Because right now I feel as if I am getting a stroke, Darling.«

»No.« Ed huffed with amusement written all too clearly on his face. »Where would be the fun in killing you right here? Plus, Martin will inherit everything from you anyway so I wouldn't even have monetary gain from your death. Not to mention that your ex would probably hunt me down the rest of my life.«

»Well, okay then.« He stepped closer to the little desk on the side of the stage where usually the contestants stood. »What kind of game do you wish to play? I hope it's kinky. Otherwise, I feel like I am wasting my time coming to this wretched place.«

»I am certain we could arrange something.« Edward’s brown eyes were full of glee as he slowly stepped closer towards him. »Three riddles, three answers. That's the rules.«

»What do I get when I give the right answers?«

»It's a surprise.« Ed stopped right in front of the desk lt Oswald stood behind. »But you’ll like it.«

»What do I get if I lose?«

»You won’t.« Before he could ask something else, Ed clapped his hands like an excited child and prompted another little eye roll from Oswald. He couldn't help it. He loved it when Edward would get so excited. In fact, he could even ignore his annoyance with his stupid riddles when Edward would just smile at him like this. »Okay, ready for the first riddle?«

A nod was all the answer Oswald gave him before Ed stepped away a little again and, with theatrical, wide gestures gave the first of his three riddles. »I am yours but you can not actually hold me. What am I?«

The riddle took him a little by surprise and it probably showed by the way he slowly blinked at his boyfriend. It wasn't a particularly hard riddle to solve and a part of him was even a bit insulted that Edward gave him such an easy riddle in the first place. »My heart.« Oswald finally answered with a soft smile.

»Correct!« Edward replied with a wide grin.

One year had passed since he had first faked his death with the help of James Gordon and thus one year had passed since he and Edward had finally gotten together in Arkham of all places. Their relationship was not always easy and that had been expected when having two eccentrics like them join forces. Still, ever since Arkham, Oswald knew that he could trust this man with all his heart and Martin too loved Edward. They were almost a proper family. At least it felt like this. What more could he wish for?

»I can fill a room or just one heart. Others can have me but I cannot be shared. What am I?«

He started to see the topic of tonight's little gameshow and so this riddle too was hardly difficult to solve as Oswald slowly stepped around the desk. »The answer is love.« He reached out to Ed again but the taller man took another step back. By now, Oswald was right in front of that god-awful giant question mark.

»Correct!«

»Ed … Why is no one here?« Something was special about this night at the riddle factory. He could sense it. Something was special about the fact that they were alone. For a few weeks now he had thought that Edward didn't seem quite happy anymore with his little show but he hadn't dared to ask him about it. No matter what he thought about the Riddle Factory, he knew that Edward needed an outlet for himself. He had learned the hard way, back when he had been the mayor, that Edward was not a sidekick. He was his own man, the Riddler, and he could respect that. Perhaps he respected him now more than he ever had in the past.

»I have sold the Riddle Factory.« Edward replied finally but there was no sadness creeping into his voice or the look in his eyes. Instead, as if forced by a nervous tick, he straightened out his jacket once more.

»You sold the Riddle Factory?« Oswald echoed. »Why?«

»I thought it's time for something new. I am done with this chapter of my life. Done with the Narrows.« Oswald nodded his understanding and yet this change had come quite sudden and surprising. He wasn’t sad about the fact that Edward would no longer be entangled with this place or the god-awful people of the Narrows. It was dangerous and he was worried every night when Ed would be here. »Ready for the last riddle?«

»Make it a little harder this time.« He smiled as Edward finally came closer again. He watched how he shoved his right hand into his jacket to pull out a small box from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. »What is this silly little box, Ed?« He found himself inquiring as Edward gave the box to him. His heart was already pounding as he turned it over in his hands and felt the velvet covering of the box.  

»I hold two people together but I only touch one. What am I?«

He looked so serious this time while Oswald had troubles fully grasping what he had just asked him. It took him a moment as he just stared at the other man before he slowly opened the box in his hands to find a slim discreet silver ring in it. There was no diamond or some other gem, only a tiny question mark engraved in the ring.

»Ed … I-«

»You are the first and only person in my life who saw me for who I am and accepted me like this. You never tried to change me.« He was almost a little spooked as Edward placed his hands on both sides of his face, the heat of his fingers seeping into his skin. »I don't need this stupid game show. I just need you to marry me.«

Oswald swallowed thickly at his words, fighting the urge to break down crying and bawling his eyes out like a little girl. His heart was hammering inside of his chest but instead of crying he just took the ring out of the box carefully to slide it on his left ring finger, before he pulled Edward into a kiss. The kiss in itself was much different from their usual kisses. It was slow and soft, gentle, almost a little shy in its nature before Oswald pulled away after just a few seconds.

»Well, if you _need_ me to marry you … What choice do I have?«

 

**-End of Epilog-**


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